Hostile Takeover, Hillbilly Style
by Romantique The Original
Summary: A brand new Justified fan, this is my first Justified fic. SPOILERS: Takes place immediately after 'Bloody Harlan.' What happens next?
1. Chapter 1

Title: Hostile Takeover, Hillbilly Style (1/10)

Author: Romantique

Email:

Classification: Raylan/Winona Drama/Romance

Rating: T for coarse language, violence, suggestive sexual situations. No more than the show.

Summary: A brand new Justified fan, this is my first Justified fic. What happens next? A/N: I wrote this fic long before Season 3, episode 1 ever aired.

Disclaimer: SPOILERS: Takes place immediately after 'Bloody Harlan.'

Legal: These characters do not belong to me. I'm just a fan and have not made a dime. Please email me to obtain permission to post.

Winona Hawkins tentatively entered one side of a semi-private hospital room that was divided by a closed curtain. When she came to the foot of the bed, she stopped in her tracks and protectively folded her arms in front of her, clutching the leather strap of her handbag in her left hand. With the exception of the sun setting outside the window, casting the last of its golden glow, the room was dark. Her gaze was immediately drawn to the bright colored lights, back lit digital numbers, and the loud, rhythmic electronic beeping of the patient monitor. Everything in the room looked cold, sterile, medicinal, and serious. Much too serious. The distraught look on her face said it all: _She did not want to be there._

"Thanks for comin'," Deputy U.S. Marshal Raylan Givens spoke in little more than a whisper through his parched mouth and throat. The welcome sight of her brought a little smile to his face, that is, until he caught the tell-tale look of dread upon hers.

Too tall for a standard hospital bed, he attempted to shift his long and lanky frame up a little by bracing the balls of his feet against the foot board. Yet, no sooner had he started to push with his legs, then, he was stopped by a sharp jolt of pain that shot through his left side, along the same pathway that had been blazed by a bullet. The pain was chased by a wave of weakness caused by his moderate loss of blood volume.

"I wasn't sure you would," he said, trying to downplay his discomfort. Winona had been shaken up enough, and he wouldn't allow himself to add on any more to what she was already trying to take in.

He had been given an injection of pain medication, twenty minutes before Winona's arrival, and had a pump for pain tied to his bed rail that he could use at will, but he wanted to stay awake for her. Given all that had transpired earlier that day, the marshal was surprisingly alert; however, his coloring was off ... ashen from the blood he lost before the ambulance arrived. Hooked up to monitor wires, a blood pressure cuff, oxygen, a pain pump, and an IV; this was far from the way she last saw him only a few hours before.

"You do know this is _exactly_ what I was afraid of," Winona trailed off, taking a mental inventory of the flashing digital readings that gave a snapshot of Raylan's condition, _weakened but stable_. Still, she could not bring herself to look at his face, into his eyes ... even in the dark.

"I ducked but guess I wasn't quite fast enough," he said and gave her a bigger smile. Seeing that his smile was not returned, he went on. "I'm gonna be fine. You know I'm indestructible, kinda like the Road Runner," he again attempted to downplay everything, using his notorious Southern wit. "The bullet, it went straight through. I'm fine."

Not at all amused, Winona vehemently protested, "I don't know that. Driving all the way here, I _didn't_ know what I would find. All I knew was that you'd been shot and that Doyle and Mags Bennett are dead!" She finally, stoically looked at him, and then, just as quickly, she looked away. "_The only thing_ _I know_ _is_, if Art and Tim and the Marshal Service hadn't shown up when they did ... you'd be dead, too." Diverting her stare to the wall, she choked down the hard lump of reality in her throat and suddenly, found herself fighting to hold back tears; however, no matter how hard she tried to keep them at bay, they managed to seep through.

Raylan knew there was no point in arguing with her about this ... because she was right. He had indeed been shot, had not worn his Kevlar vest, _and_ came dangerously close to being killed more than once in the same day by a member of the Bennett clan: first, by Dickie Bennett, then by brother Doyle, and later, at the masterfully crafty yet extremely toxic hands of their mother, Mags.

"Art told me you were the reason they showed up," Raylan said, keeping his voice down.

Still avoiding eye contact for fear of losing what little was left of her resolve, she silently acknowledged him by nodding her head.

"Thank you for that, too," he continued to try and kill her with kindness.

His soft brown eyes pleaded with her to look at him.

Winona shifted her weight and hugged herself even tighter, hugging the life inside her ... still refusing to look at him, to break down and give in to him, _again_. She then stared out the window, across the courtyard of the medical center, and her bottom lip began to quiver. She searched her mind for a silver lining to almost losing him, _again_. After the last time he was almost killed on the job, she swore this would never happen to her again. And yet, here she was _again_, only this time with his baby in the picture. Just as she decided it was time to turn around and bolt and run out the door, she grabbed hold of one small, silver strand.

"Well," she flatly said, continuing to stare out the window, "you _did_ manage to get Loretta out of there in one piece. I guess that's something." Taking in a deep breath, she stood there, trying to convince herself that the young girl was the _only_ reason Raylan again put his self in danger. Truth be told, Winona knew that wasn't true.

Raylan continued to search her face, trying to make eye contact. "Would you come 'ere and sit by me ... … for a little while?" He also knew her well enough to know she was standing much too close to the doorway for his comfort level. "Please?"

Still stoically refusing to look at him, he surmised that she was working herself up to leave him, again. He also knew continuing on in his current occupation was now non-negotiable, as far as Winona was concerned.

"You do know that, after takin' a bullet _and_ talkin' Loretta out of ruinin' her young life, I'm in a much stronger position of makin' the case to go to Glynco," he offered.

That did it. She caved, and finally, she looked over at him, the colored lights from the monitor reflected on his face. He looked gaunt.

_"Damn hormones,"_ she swore to herself, under her breath, not at all feeling like herself these days.

Unable to hold back any longer, she lost it, and the tears began to freely stream down her face.

Now that he could see her eyes and into her soul, he continued. "I'm sorry I scared you. I'm gonna be okay. I promise; everything will be okay."

Winona could not help but think that, in that moment, her brave, strong lawman didn't appear to be very strong at all. But his voice was strong, and she needed to believe him. Dabbing her eyes with the cuff of her jacket sleeve, she let down her guard and finally, walked closer to his side. Reaching over the lead wires and tubing, she tenderly brushed his hair away from his eyes with her fingertips. Her tear filled blue eyes locked with his. _Damn, I can't ever stay mad at him._

Her feather touch felt like heaven to him. She was the best medicine he could possibly have, and Raylan gave her a little smile that crinkled the outer corners of his eyes, a little smile she immediately mirrored. Then, she leaned down. Carefully maneuvering around the nasal cannula, she very lightly kissed his lips with hers. She found his lips dry, his skin cool and clammy.

With his eyes closed, Raylan reached through the bars of the side rail of the bed and found his way to her. He firmly placed his hand across her lower abdomen, wanting to connect with the new life growing inside her. She warmly placed her hand over his.

Winona loved this man, yet at the same time, she was very aware of a fear of something bad happening to him, an old, familiar fear she could never shake.

_A week later ..._

Infection was the biggest concern about the open gunshot wound. The doctors treated it by leaving it open, regularly irrigated and allowed to heal from the inside out with the help of IV antibiotics. The lawman had been damn lucky the bullet missed his vital organs, bones, nerves, major blood vessels. Daily breathing exercises with the respiratory therapist were painful but prevented pneumonia. All things considered, Raylan was progressing well.

Released from the hospital at noon, Winona left her job early from the court house to drive Raylan to his motel and help him get situated. They first stopped at a nearby pharmacy to pick up his pain meds and antibiotics, some plastic wrap and tape so that he could shower, along with a couple of pints of vanilla ice cream. Once back at the motel, he slowly maneuvered his way out of the passenger side of Winona's car and even more slowly, up the stairs to his room, all the while grabbing hold of his wounded side.

"You doing okay over there, Cowboy?" Winona asked, walking a few steps ahead of him so that she could open the door. She could see he was struggling.

"Yeah," he reassured her. "My side, it pulls a little when I stand ... or sit. I don't plan on doin' much of either in the near future. By the way, the pullin'? That means my side is healin'."

Winona smiled at him from over her shoulder, as she pushed the card key into the door. "Says who?"

While glad to have him home, she also knew that he would have said anything to the doctors in order to get them to release him from the hospital. It had been their judgment call to discharge him today; however, they just could have just as easily made the case to keep him a few days longer. She made certain to pay close attention to his discharge instructions, just in case he was being released too soon.

"Says my doctor," he smiled back.

"Welcome home," she said with a lilt in her voice, as she pulled out the card key and turned the door knob. _"If you can call this dump a home,"_ she added, under her breath.

"You wouldn't by any chance be makin' fun of our _'love shack'_ again now, would you?" he quipped.

"Oh, not me," she let out a gratuitous little laugh.

With the door now wide open, Raylan looked around the tired old place. He had actually missed his rent-by-the-week room and was surprised to find it was immaculately clean with everything in its place. It even smelled clean. Clearly this was Winona's doing, as evidenced by the fresh flowers on the table, a bouquet she brought from the hospital the night before. Winona had never been one to be satisfied with the way the motel maid cleaned. She could always do one better.

Raylan walked over to the closet and, rather than have to feel the pull of bending over, he favored his side by abruptly dropping his bag of clothes and discharge papers onto the floor and carefully setting his hat, crown side down, on the top shelf while Winona placed the pints of ice cream in the freezer of the small, motel refrigerator.

"It's almost time for you to take your pills. These antibiotics are to be taken with food." She walked towards him. "Would you like me to make you a little something to eat? I stopped at the store yesterday and picked up a few things."

Raylan turned around to face her. Silently, he reached out and lightly traced the outline of her mouth with the tip of his finger and slowly backed her up against the wall between the closet and the bathroom. They searched the other's eyes until he finally leaned in for a kiss. Smoldering embers inside them ignited in a split second as their lips and then, their tongues met. The chemistry between them had always been ... combustible.

"For the last two days, you are all I've been able to think about," he said, breathing a little more heavily in between a sultry dance of kisses he planted along the side of her face. "Why do you think I was in such a hurry to get out of the hospital?"

Their kissing became deeper, more intense, as he began to gently, yet deliberately, press his desire against hers.

"Raylan?" she panted, finding herself breathing heavy with him. "Are you sure you're ready for this?"

The embers inside her had also been lit. Winona hated this place where he hung his hat. The walls were paper thin.

"Don't make me beg," was his answer to her question. It had been over a week since they had been together. "We'll be careful."

Winona glanced over towards the room door to make sure it had been closed. Then, she slowly backed up a few steps and led him over to the vanity near the bathroom, where she began peeling off her skirt and blouse, her bra, and panties. All she left on were her black pumps. Then, she hopped up on the vanity counter. Raylan was mesmerized at the sight of her body that he loved and let out a little moan when she very carefully released him from the sweatpants he wore home from the hospital. In lifting up his shirt tail and t-shirt, for the first time since he had been shot, she saw bruising and discoloration. Angry colors of black and blue, purple and red spread around the bandage, from his side and down to his pelvic bone. When Raylan unbuttoned his shirt and peeled off his t-shirt, she also saw black and blue marks left from Dickie Bennett's baseball bat, about his arms and shoulder. She fought to hold back any change in her facial expression that would denote any kind of pity and instead, proceeded to make love to him with caution.

"Do you remember the night," Raylan growled in her ear from somewhere deep in his throat, cupping her face in his hand while she worked her magic, "we did the baby makin'?"

She nodded, as their eyes again met.

"So do I," he whispered, as his hands lightly glided over her body. Then, he slowly, sensually traced where her hair framed her face, by its entire length, until he reached her neck, then collar bone, then breasts. "We deserve ... to be happy, don't we."

Her body welcomed his touch, the nerve endings responding with pulses of joy. Ever mindful of his injuries, she guided him to her. "Yeah, we do," she whispered.

Each one starved for the other, they slowly, carefully came together, making their way towards an intensely heated union and then, to a much needed mutual release.

_Later that afternoon ..._

The sun shone through the slats of the closed blinds, transforming the light in the motel room into a golden hue. Not normally home and in bed at this time of the day, the change in the light was noticeable, making the normally dreary little room appear much warmer.

Raylan lay in bed on his back with his right arm wrapped around Winona, who was snuggled up close against his _'good_ _side.'_ He had dozed off for a little while but woke after she left their bed to make a quick trip to the bathroom. On her way back, she stopped in the kitchen and brought him back some peanut butter on crackers and a cold glass of milk so that he could take his next dose of meds. He did exactly as she said, as he decided he had best be a good patient for her, after everything he had put her through. It was the least he could do.

Lying together, Raylan broke a peaceful silence by once again bringing up the baby. "I don't know how, but ... that night... somehow, I_ knew_ I was makin' a baby with you," he recalled, as he gently caressed what would very soon become Winona's _'baby bump.'_ "I'm gonna say this one time, and one time only: Our baby ... is not an accident." He turned his head and looked over at her, into her eyes. "I don't _ever_ want this baby to think he or she wasn't ... you know ... wanted."

She was touched by what he had said. "Okay," Winona nodded, snuggling up to him, even closer. "Raylan, are you alright?" She truly loved that he was happy about the baby, that he loved the idea of becoming a father. Clearly, he was ready for this. However, she suspected all this talk about the baby being wanted had more to do with him than their baby.

"Yeah," he nodded, "never better."

He looked over at her. She leaned in to kiss him, as he continued to caress her lower abdomen. In turn, she began to lightly stroke his body.

Raylan's eyelids were becoming heavy, as the pain pills kicked in and started to do their job. "As good as this feels, and it feels _damn good_, I'm afraid you're startin' somethin' I may not be able to finish," he mumbled.

"Mmmm," Winona moaned, as she shifted her weight on her side and then, up on her knees. His body responded to her touch. "Lie back and relax. You don't have to worry about a thing." She proceeded to plant sensual, little kisses along sides of his face, down his neck and upper chest. He reached down for her head, lightly combing his fingers through her silky, wavy tresses. She skillfully continued her erotic descent down his body, ever mindful of his injuries when, all of a sudden, there was a rap at the door so loud and unexpected, it made Winona jump out of her own skin.

_To be continued ..._


	2. Chapter 2

Title: Hostile Takeover, Hillbilly Style (2/10)

Author: Romantique

Email:

Classification: Raylan/Winona Drama/Romance

Rating: T for coarse language, violence, suggestive sexual situations. No worse than the show.

Summary: A brand new Justified fan, this is my first Justified fic. What happens next?

Disclaimer: SPOILERS: Takes place immediately after 'Bloody Harlan.'

Legal: These characters do not belong to me. I'm just a fan and have not made a dime. Please email me to obtain permission to post.

"Hey, Raylan? Are you in there?" a voice yelled from the other side of the door. "It's Boyd Crowder."

"Just a minute," Raylan yelled back.

Winona scrambled to find her robe, as Raylan struggled to regain his composure. He slowly sat up on the side of the bed and, even more slowly, reached down to the floor for his sweatpants and stepped into them. Then, he grabbed a gun from the top drawer of the nightstand and turned off the safety. Art had taken his service weapon at the scene of the shooting, as was standard procedure after any shooting involving an employee of the Marshal Service. With his finger poised on the trigger, he made his way to the door in his sweats and bare feet, and quietly slid the unlocked chain on its track.

Being shot had a way of making a man become even more cautious than usual.

Once the door was chained, he opened the door a couple of inches and peered out to see who was there. It was, indeed, Boyd.

"You alone?" Raylan asked.

"Yeah, it's just me," Boyd said.

Hoping Boyd was telling the truth, Raylan unhooked the chain and opened the door only a little more, allowing Winona time to head for the privacy of the bathroom. He decided it best not to invite Boyd inside.

"How are you comin' along?" Boyd asked upon seeing his sometimes old friend and sometimes nemesis, referring to his recent gunshot wound.

"I'm comin' along," Raylan answered, taking a trained look around the parking lot and seeing it was all clear. He held his gun, at the ready, with his left hand behind the door. "How's Ava?" he asked, referring to her gunshot wound, as well.

"She's comin' along, too," Boyd answered. "Thank you for askin'. She sends you her best."

"As do I to her," Raylan acknowledged Ava's good wishes by nodding.

Atypically barefoot and bare chested, it was obvious Raylan was not ready to receive company.

Then, looking up at Boyd with a glance from the side, Raylan asked in an irritated tone, "Boyd, why are you here?"

"I'm sorry to bother you, but the hospital said you'd been released." Boyd was his usual polite self.

As a sunbeam hit Raylan square in the eyes, he squinted and responded with a cool, "You could have called."

"I'm lookin' for Arlo," Boyd quickly explained.

Raylan shook his head with a hint of irritation. "I haven't seen Arlo in over a week."

"Didn't he visit you in the hospital?" Boyd asked, with a tone of disbelief in his voice.

"C'mon. This is Arlo we're talkin' about," Raylan tried to make light of his relationship with his father. "Why are you lookin' for him?"

Boyd explained, "Word has it that Dickie Bennett is in jail makin' all kinds of noise. He's claimin' now that Mags and Doyle are deceased, he's the legal heir of the money from the sale of the easement rights to Black Pike. Not to mention, he's tryin' to run the Harlan weed business from inside a jail cell."

"Is that right?" Raylan's voice sounded as disinterested as he was.

Boyd would not allow Raylan's disinterest to deter him from the reason for his visit. "But then, I heard Arlo say that Dickie becomin' the next _'King Pin of Harlan County_' would happen over Arlo's dead body."

The disinterested expression on Raylan's face did not change.

Boyd continued, "Yeah, Arlo said somethin' about that paperwork that he and Mags signed, that transferred ownership of the Indian Line property, would somehow _up and disappear_. That would make the deal Mags made with Black Pike on behalf of herself and all those land owners she represented become null and void. Then, Black Pike would move in on Dickie and the others under eminent domain and leave all of them with nothin'."

Raylan looked Boyd square in the eye, pulled his right lower eyelid down with his index finger to expose his eyeball and dryly said, "Do you see anybody in here who gives a shit?"

"Well, you should," Boyd insisted, smiling at Raylan's little joke. "Because if Arlo _is_ the rightful owner of the Indian Line property ... with the Bennetts out of the way, you're gonna be involved ... especially if Arlo sells everyone out. He would do that, sell out all his neighbors in order to rub Dickie out. That would make Arlo, and you, _'Public Enemy Number 1 and Son.'_ You see, Raylan, no matter how far you try to distance yourself from your father, you're still a Givens, whether you want to be one or not."

"Not accordin' to Arlo," Raylan countered about being a Givens. "And that's not true about me bein' involved," he went on. "I don't have anything to do with Arlo's businesses, if that's what you want to call them. At the Marshal Service, we refer to them mostly as Ponzi schemes and instruments of tax evasion and racketeerin'."

"Federal law is the least of our worries. With Coover, Mags, and Doyle gone, and Dickie sittin' in jail, there's a power vacuum in Harlan. We need to find Arlo, or all hell's about to break loose." Boyd's tone was foreboding.

The marshal clenched his jaw at the thought of having to go look for his daddy. "Right now, I'm not technically a marshal. I'm out on medical leave."

Raylan told himself that this was not his problem. Was he trying to convince Boyd or himself?

"Marshal or not, medical leave or not ... that doesn't have anything to do with the winds of change that are about to descend upon us all here in Harlan County," Boyd pontificated, as if he was reading a prediction straight from the Bible.

Raylan's eyes narrowed, and he glared at Boyd. His hand tensed up around the gun handle, his finger ready on the trigger. "Is that supposed to be some kind of a threat?"

"No, not a threat," Boyd glared back. "It's a fact. As bad as your family becoming _'Public Enemy_ _Number 1'_ could be, you'd better hope that Arlo's right about the money. Dickie just put out a jailhouse contract on Arlo's head. And yours, too." Then, Boyd tightened his jaw. "You should have let me kill him when I had the chance."

"You know I couldn't do that," Raylan reminded him. "He was my only link to Loretta."

"Loretta's fine now," Boyd reminded Raylan. "I'd like nothin' better than to put the word out on the street, today, that Dickie is tellin' all kinds of tall tales about his worthless estate. That and to take back the weed business. If you're not a marshal at the moment, I'd appreciate it if you didn't remember a word of anything I just told you."

Looking away in disgust, Raylan took in a deep, painful breath of exasperation and slowly let it out. "Give me five minutes," he said.

Then, he closed the door. As he turned around and relaxed his trigger finger, he noticed that the overhead lights in the room had been turned on, and Winona was standing there in her robe, just outside the bathroom door.

"How much of that did you just hear?" Raylan locked eyes with hers. He did not particularly want to repeat the conversation he had just had with Boyd, one he wished she had not heard.

"Enough," she said, wrapping her arms around herself to keep her bathrobe closed. "So much for deserving to be happy."

_A little while later at Arlo's house ..._

It was dark by the time Boyd and Raylan arrived at Arlo's place. No one answered the door when Raylan knocked. He then checked the door knob and found that the door was open. Slowly, carefully, he placed his hand over his gun as he opened the screen door, and then the door, and stepped inside. Arlo was sitting there, in the front room, with a sawed-off shotgun in the ready position.

After being shot, seeing a loaded gun pointed at him gave Raylan a bit of a start. He was surprised at his reaction.

Steadying himself and his breathing, he then calmly asked, "Arlo. How are you doin' there?"

"I see that bullet didn't get the better of you. You're a lucky son-of-a-beetch, you know that? To come outta that gun fight in one piece," the older man acknowledged his son's presence.

"I'm like a cat with nine lives, or so I've been told," Raylan returned the banter.

"Who's that there with you?" Arlo sensed his son was not alone.

"That would be Boyd Crowder," Raylan said.

At that moment, from the porch outside the screen door, Boyd said, "Hey, Arlo."

After Arlo returned Boyd's greeting, Raylan asked Boyd if he could have a few minutes with Arlo, alone. Boyd said that would be fine and left to wait in his truck.

Once they were alone, Raylan said to his father, "Boyd stopped by my place to let me know Dickie Bennett is claimin' he's now the sole heir of the money his momma received from the big land sale from Black Pike. That and ... he's tryin' to control the weed business from a jail cell." Then, after a beat, he added, "Oh, yeah. And word on the street is Dickie put a contract out on you. And on me, too."

"That's bullsheet," Arlo responded. "You got to have big cash to put out a contact, even from jail. Dickie don't have any to speak of."

"And just how do you know how much cash Dickie has or doesn't have?" Raylan raised a skeptical eyebrow.

Arlo laughed. "Because I'll be damned if I let that little weasel, Dickie Bennett, take over Harlan."

"And exactly how do you think you could prevent that from happenin' or not?" Raylan skillfully tried to get his talkative father to talk a little more.

"I'm tellin' you nothin', marshal," he glared at his son with steely eyes. "The less you know, the better off we'll both be."

Raylan took a hard swallow. "I'm not a marshal right now. I'm out on medical leave. They confiscated my service piece after the shootin', and I'll have to be reinstated and re-qualify for my gun when the doctors say it's alright for me to return to work." He then, walked a little more inside the room and leaned against a chair. "I think you better tell me what's goin' on."

"Raylan, you best not be blowin' buckshot up my ass," Arlo sparred with the crass remarks, referring to Raylan's marshal status.

"I'm not," Raylan verbally sparred back. "And you'd best not be blowin' any up mine. Now, tell me what the hell's been goin' on since I've been away in the hospital, and don't leave anything out."

_A couple of hours later ..._

The ride back with Boyd had been a relatively quiet one, as the typically chatty Boyd had talked himself out over at Arlo's. It seemed that Boyd had told the truth, after all.

Both these men were satisfied with the outcome of their little visit with the old man. Raylan predictably remained vehement that he did not want to know any of the details of Boyd's business dealings with Arlo, or who was involved in the convenient disappearance of the signed agreement between Arlo and Mags for the Indian Line property. All Raylan needed was to see Arlo in order to know if Arlo was telling the truth. As much as his father enjoyed skirting the truth, Raylan could tell his father was being truthful ... about this. Knowing the truth, at least Raylan could deal with the situation with no surprises.

After Raylan had finished speaking with his father in private, he invited Boyd back inside. That is when Arlo also told Boyd precisely what he did to screw Dickie out of his inheritance. Raylan then overheard Boyd get on his cell phone and tell Devil and his boys that Dickie was lying about having the funds to pay for the contracts he'd put out on Arlo and Raylan. Boyd knew that once fellow prisoners got wind that Dickie had put out an unfunded hit, Dickie's days would be numbered. Without saying a word, it was understood that Raylan, Boyd, nor Arlo had a problem with that distinct possibility.

Over the next hours and days, the hit contracts would become less and less an issue, and they only needed to lay low until that happened. Now, Raylan was more concerned about the Givens name becoming lower than dirt all over town. For now, Boyd needed Arlo, and Boyd called in some reinforcements from neighboring towns to protect the old man from his neighbors while they started up a new weed distribution plan with Dickie soon to be out of the picture.

Raylan's private thoughts moved to Winona. When word got out that those Green Mountain Project families would receive ultimately nothing in compensation, there would surely be hell to pay, and the pay would surely come out of his and Arlo's hides. It would come out of Winona's, too. Anyone Raylan cared about would be fair game. Then, Raylan's thoughts immediately went to the baby. No one knew that Winona was pregnant, and it needed to stay that way.

Soon, Boyd and Raylan were back at the parking lot outside of Raylan's motel room.

"Watch your back, law man," Boyd warned, as he stopped the truck to let Raylan out.

Raylan's injured side pulled upon stepping down the extra foot, out of the pickup. Before closing the door, his eyes narrowed. "Is that a threat, Boyd?"

"No, not a threat," Boyd answered. "It's a promise. You take care, Raylan."

Now that the two had a quiet understanding, at least for now, Boyd allowed the law man to be on his way.

Raylan had a heightened awareness of his surroundings and kept his index finger on the trigger of his holstered gun, as he slowly made his way up the steps to his motel room. His pain meds had worn off about an hour ago, and he was hurting pretty bad. All he wanted to do was take a pain pill and antibiotic and get into bed. He quietly opened the door to find the lights in his room dimmed. Winona was already in bed, asleep.

So as not to wake her, he quietly locked the door and then, went into the kitchenette to eat a couple of crackers before downing his pills. Next, he secured his gun and hat and toed off his boots before making one last stop in the bathroom. He emerged a few minutes later, when his left side gave an angry pull as he bent down to ease himself under the covers. Once he managed to get himself into a horizontal position, it felt good to know that he didn't have to get up or down again until morning.

"Raylan?" Winona stirred.

"Shhhhh, go on back to sleep," he whispered.

"What happened with Arlo?" she asked with her eyes still closed.

Adjusting his pillow, he again whispered, "It's a long, Arlo story I'm too tired to repeat tonight." Closing his eyes, he added, "I need to see Art in the mornin'. Wake me up so I can ride into work with you? I'll tell you all about it on the way in, over a cup of coffee."

"Alright," she answered with her eyes still closed, and she moved closer to him to feel his warm body next to hers.

Raylan reached over and placed his hand protectively over her lower abdomen, and they soon drifted off to sleep.

_To be continued ..._


	3. Chapter 3

Title: Hostile Takeover, Hillbilly Style (3/10)

Author: Romantique

Email:

Classification: Raylan/Winona Drama/Romance

Rating: T for coarse language, violence, suggestive sexual situations. No worse than the show.

Summary: A brand new Justified fan, this is my first Justified fic. What happens next?

Disclaimer: SPOILERS: Takes place immediately after 'Bloody Raylan.'

Legal: These characters do not belong to me. I'm just a fan and have not made a dime. Please email me to obtain permission to post.

_The next morning ..._

Winona drove Raylan to the court house, just as he had asked. In return, he caught her up on last night's meeting with Arlo, but only as much as he felt was necessary. For example, he decided to leave out the part about a contract being put out on his and Arlo's heads because he thought all that worry would not be good for the baby. Truth be told, he thought it would not be so good for him, either, if she knew that part.

"So, then, why do you need to come in to work and talk to Art?" she asked, feeling something with his story was not quite _'right.'_

Looking out the passenger side window, he said, "It's about Arlo." Then, under his breath, he asked himself, _"Isn't it always about Arlo?"_

"Couldn't you have handled this over the phone?" she asked.

His going into work, injured ... something wasn't squaring up.

"Uh, no," he cleared his throat. "This is definitely _not _the kind of thing I can discuss over the phone."

"Oh," she shook her head, reminded of the criminality of what Raylan had just told her about his father.

She knew how much it bothered Raylan that his father resided on the _wrong side of the law._ She then drastically changed her tone to a much softer, more caring one.

"Arlo's not you, you know," she offered.

Raylan looked over at her and placed his hand over her knee, appreciating what she had just said.

"I know," he said.

Still, it was good to be reminded.

After they arrived, Winona parked her car, and the two walked into the Lobby where Winona left Raylan at the elevator to begin her day at work. At the elevator, he declined her offer for a ride back to the motel, assuring her that he would catch a ride with Rachel or Tim, after he saw Art. Raylan then walked over to the Marshals' Offices, his gait a little slower and his stride a little shorter than normal. He saw no Tim and no Rachel at their desks as he walked by, and he tapped on the open door of Art's fishbowl office with no appointment, no announcement.

"What the hell are you doin' here?" Chief Deputy Art Mullen looked up, bellowing from behind his desk. While pleased to see that Raylan was up and mobile, he was visibly unhappy to see him back at the office so soon. "I know for a fact you were discharged from the hospital only yesterday and arguably early. Not only that, I can't tell you how much I've been lookin' forward to a vacation away from you," he quipped. Then, point blank, he said, "Raylan, you have no business bein' here."

"Yeah, I do," Raylan was adamant. "I need to speak to you, and not over the phone. It's urgent." Still meeting with Art's face of resistance, Raylan quickly added, "I'll be outta your hair in five minutes. Promise."

Letting out a sigh of exasperation, Art relented. "Close the door. You've got five minutes," he huffed, holding out his open hand of five fingers to forcefully denote the set time limit of this meeting.

Raylan closed the door and approached his boss's desk.

Then, Art impatiently ordered the obvious. "Well, have a seat!" He was ready to get the show on the road ... and Raylan gone.

"Thanks, but I'd rather stand," Raylan said.

Art thought that Raylan was being contrary as usual, but the truth was, Raylan hadn't taken a pain pill that morning, as he wanted to remain clear headed for this meeting. Even the thought of sitting down and standing up, again, was much too painful.

"Boyd Crowder came to visit me, yesterday," Raylan began, hands loosely on his hips. "Caught me up on all the local scuttlebutt while I've been disposed."

"Is that right?" Art asked. "I didn't realize you and Boyd were such _'buddies.'"_

Flashing Art an incredible expression, Raylan quipped, "Uh, we're not." Then, he skirted the subject back towards the reason he came. "You haven't heard any of it, have you?" Raylan always thought it was best to feel Art out before going in for the close. "The local scuttlebutt?"

Knowing he was being probed by a seasoned deputy marshal, Art asked in an irritated tone, "What? Did you come all the way down here to catch me up on … the town gossip?"

Raylan then surmised Art had not heard anything. "You know that, with the Bennett family out of commission, there's a void in power in the organization of which some of our favorite drug and moonshine runnin' hillbillies are members. Dickie Bennett is attemptin' to ascend to the throne from the jail house. And as one of his first, official acts, the word is ... he put a contract out on Arlo's head ... and on mine."

That news seemed to capture Art's attention. "And was Boyd _'the word'_?"

"Yes," Raylan slowly nodded, "that's a good way to put it," catching Art's reference to Boyd's evangelical roots.

Leaning further back in his chair, Art asked, "Would Boyd come in and give us a statement of what he heard? It's a felony to make a threat against a Federal marshal."

"I don't think he would. Technically, at this point in time, the threats are just jailhouse gossip, but I tend to believe they're true. And that's somethin' because you know how skeptical I've become of late." Clenching his jaw, Raylan continued, again abruptly changing the subject. "It seems to me that, with me bein' out on medical leave and my life bein' threatened, now would be the perfect time to transfer me to Glynco."

Art looked up at his younger charge with a start. As much as Raylan was far too often the cause of his own troubles ... shooting people dead with a questionably itchy trigger finger including a member of the drug Cartel, not following orders, sleeping with a Federal witness, sleeping with his married ex-wife ... being born into a hundred year feud to a criminal as a father was certainly not his fault. "I'm afraid Glynco is not lookin' like much of an option right now."

"Why not?" Raylan was genuinely surprised to hear this. He had promised Winona they would go.

"It's the economy, Raylan," Art volunteered. "The Federal Government has instituted a hirin' freeze. No new hires, no promotions, no raises, no relocations."

Talking with his hands, Raylan asked, "Is that across the board, or would they make an exception in my case?"

"Well, aside from the budget cuts, it doesn't help that you're bein' investigated in yet _another_ shootin'," Art attempted to explain his position in not feeling comfortable going to bat for him.

"Hey, but I'm the victim in this one!" Raylan interrupted. "And I'm bein' threatened. "

"Doesn't matter," Art countered. "Let's just say your name keeps comin' up, over and over again, at the DOJ. According to their people, it's a little too frequent to be random chance. Don't you realize that these investigations you keep gettin' yourself involved in, they cost money? To be honest, you'll be lucky if you get to keep the job you have."

"I don't understand. I was off duty. I saved Loretta," Raylan countered Art's counter.

Then, Art lowered the boom. "And once again, you didn't call for backup. You took it upon yourself to walk right into the middle of a hillbilly shootout. It was Winona who came to me and asked for us to back you up, not you."

"I had no way of knowin' that I'd be greeted by the _"Hillbilly Welcome Wagon,"_ Art," Raylan emphatically raised his eyebrows.

"Oh, right. You just thought the Bennetts would welcome you into their home with open arms?" Art retorted in disbelief. Then, he shook his head. "You're just never gonna learn. You are not a team player." Then, Art raised a stern eyebrow. "Raylan, you're damn lucky you're not dead from this last one."

The look on Art's face was one Raylan had not expected to see. It finally became clear:_ It wasn't that Art did not want to help his deputy marshal, he couldn't help him._

"Do you have a gun?" Art looked up, changing his tone from one of irritation to concern.

"You know I do," Raylan mumbled.

"Well, good," Art nodded his head. "You'll need to be able to protect yourself. And you _could _call us if you need help, but we both know you won't."

"Funny." Raylan gave a forced smile. After a beat, Raylan continued, "Art, I've got another concern, a bigger one." "_If you can believe that,"_ he uttered under his breath.

"Arlo?" Art guessed.

Raylan shook his head. "No. I'm not worried about him, and neither should you."

Something about that statement sounded more caustic than the usual, even for Raylan, causing Art to ask, "And why should I not be worried about the old man?"

Raylan shrugged his shoulders. "Because Arlo can take care of himself."

"Well, if it's not Arlo, then what?" Art was tiring of these guessing games.

After a thoughtful pause, Raylan continued. "Before I tell you what I need to tell you, you can't let _anyone_ know about this, no one."

"Alright," Art agreed. At times, getting this guy to talk was like pulling teeth.

Less than satisfied, Raylan added, before proceeding, "I need your word. I mean, you can't even tell Rachel or Tim. No one."

Art shook his head and let out another sigh of frustration. "You sure do carry around a lot of secrets. But alright, you have my word."

Raylan's eyes narrowed and then, he blurted it out, "Winona's pregnant."

There. He had said it. It was the first time Raylan had told anyone.

Again, surprised, Art said, "I would say congratulations, but is it?"

"Oh, I'm over the moon about the baby," Raylan smiled. "It's just that the timin' with Winona and me has always been a beat off, and this is no exception."

"Uh, yeah. She's still married, isn't she?" Art couldn't help but rub it in.

For someone who was such a good law man, Raylan often made bad choices in his personal life.

"Yeah, kinda," Raylan gave a forced grin. He deserved the ribbing.

"If you're happy, then congratulations," Art smiled. He liked Winona.

"Thank you," Raylan tipped his hat.

"How about we toast on this?" Art asked, reaching for his Kentucky Bourbon that he kept in his bottom drawer, and then, a couple of glasses out of his bookcase. "Are you okay to have drink?"

"Yeah," Raylan answered. "I only take the pain pills at night to sleep." This was not far from the truth.

"Alright" Art nodded, pouring three fingers' worth of the Old Crow into each glass. He then handed one glass to Raylan. "To babies," he lifted his glass and _'clinked it'_ with Raylan's.

"To babies," Raylan repeated.

The two men quickly downed the amber liquid.

Then, after the slug of whiskey, Raylan hung his head with the weight of the secrets he carried and looked up at his boss with a sideways glance. "I don't want anyone comin' after Winona to get to me."

Raylan's concern suddenly became very clear to Art. "Is she at all involved?" he asked.

"Well, she knows everything, includin' some of the stuff I _'don't know.'_" Raylan made air quotes around the last part to make a point. "And there are those around town who have seen us together. I mean we've tried to be discreet, but Ava saw us together one night. Ava thinks I was two-timin' her."

"Well, were you?" Art asked.

"Yeah, kinda," Raylan gave another grin. "But it was unintentional. At the time, I didn't know Winona wanted to give me anything but a swift kick in the ass. Trust me, no one was more surprised than me that she wanted to get together." He went on. "And then, there was that time Ava saw me with Winona at my Aunt Helen's graveside service. It was pretty obvious we were _'together.'_"

Art put the top back on his Bourbon and placed it back in his desk drawer. "A woman scorned with information like that is never a good thing," he said referring to Ava.

"No, it is not," Raylan agreed. "Not to mention, Winona will be showin' soon. We can't keep this a secret for long."

"Could she leave town for awhile?" Art asked, giving an obvious solution to Raylan's problem.

"We were hopin' to go to Glynco," Raylan answered. "Her job's here at the Courthouse, her insurance is here. She doesn't have any family to speak of."

After thinking for a moment, Art offered. "I could make some calls to the Protection Program, you know, find out if she would be eligible."

"Hell," Raylan swore. It suddenly occurred to him that protection might be their only option. "Yeah, I'd appreciate that."

_About two hours later ..._

After Deputy Tim Gutterson returned to the office, he offered to drive Raylan home if he could wait for about an hour. Raylan gratefully obliged. He had to be careful to say very little about why he was there at the office and made up a story about having to come in to sign some paperwork related to his leave.

Tim had noticed his fellow marshal favoring his injured side upon entering and exiting the car, and he saw him try to hide the fact that he was in some pain. Tim pushed the button to lower his window and called out Raylan as he walked around the car, "You take care of yourself now, you hear?"

"I've got some pain pills in my room with my name on them," Raylan grinned. "Thanks for the ride."

"No problem," Tim said, raising his window. Then, he took off to go back to work.

As Raylan began the short but painful climb up the stairs to his front door, he suddenly heard the unmistakable click of the trigger of a handgun come up from behind him.

"Raylan Givens," a low voice uttered. "You're about to make me a very rich man."

Slowly moving his hand in the direction of his own weapon, Raylan replied with a cool regard, "I hope you're not relyin' on Dickie Bennett to pay you for my head. You know he doesn't have two red cents to rub together, don't you?"

"You're full of shit," the man drawled.

"No, I'm not," Raylan countered, as he carefully calculated this situation. "You also know, you'll get the death penalty for killin' a U.S. marshal, right? And while you're waitin' for trial, they'll put you under the jail and look the other way while the other prisoners have their way with you. No guard is gonna protect a cop killer. So even if Dickie had any money, and he doesn't ... it sounds to me like he's tryin' to set you up." Then, suddenly, he spied a metallic planter near his front door, where he could see the reflection of the position of the gunman behind him, a much wider man then the marshal.

"Nah, now I ..." The gunman was cut off, as Raylan grabbed his gun and spun around, discharging a shot to the gunman's trigger shoulder. "Ahhhh," the gunman shouted, as his gun went flying out of his hand, and he went down on the ground from the impact of the bullet.

Raylan holstered his weapon and reached inside his jacket to pull out his cell phone. Then, suddenly, he was jumped by a second man who smelled really bad and knocked Raylan off his feet. Both men tumbled down, onto the pavement, where they exchanged a few punches.

Once again, the other man was larger than Raylan, and he scrambled to his feet, pulling Raylan up with him. Then, the man cocked his arm back and let Raylan have it, as his fist connected with the left side of Raylan's face with full force.

Raylan swayed, trying to regain his bearings. "Good God, man. Don't you ever bathe?" The man's smell almost took his breath away.

The remark threw the man off guard so that Raylan was able to get in two more, fast uppercut punches, in turn giving him enough time to draw his weapon.

The man immediately ceased contact. Winded, and stinging from the shot he had taken to his face, Raylan then ordered, "Now, sit your ass down, next to your buddy over there." At least the stinging of his face took his mind off the searing pain in his side from what had been his healing gunshot wound.

The 2nd man reluctantly did as he was told. Still holding his gun squarely on the two, would-be assailants, Raylan pulled his cell phone out of his pocket with his other hand and called 911. "Yeah, this is U.S. Marshal Raylan Givens. I need an ambulance and some backup. And a fumigator." The smelly guy's rank body odor was now all over Raylan, foul enough to gag a maggot.

_"Ahhhh, shit,"_ Raylan uttered under his breath.

_To be continued ..._


	4. Chapter 4

Title: Hostile Takeover, Hillbilly Style (4/10)

Author: Romantique

Email:

Classification: Raylan/Winona Drama/Romance

Rating: T for coarse language, violence, suggestive sexual situations. No worse than the show.

Summary: A brand new Justified fan, this is my first Justified fic. What happens next?

Disclaimer: SPOILERS: Takes place immediately after 'Bloody Harlan.'

Legal: These characters do not belong to me. I'm just a fan and have not made a dime. Please email me to obtain permission to post.

"That was fast," Raylan remarked to his coworker. He had placed the call to 911 only minutes before.

It was true. Tim arrived about the same time as the paramedics. "I hadn't even made it to the Interstate when the call came in. I can take it from here," he said, drawing his weapon and relieving an off-duty Raylan from holding the two suspects at gunpoint. Then, upon noticing Raylan's pummeled face, Tim added, "Why don't you take a seat over there, and let the medics take a look at you?" He pointed to the steps just outside Raylan's motel room with the barrel of his rifle. Then, in one sweeping move, he bent down and grabbed Raylan's hat from the ground where it had landed during the scuffle and handed it to him.

"Thanks. I'm fine … by the way," Raylan insisted, taking the hat and gently placing it, sitting slightly back, on his throbbing head. The thought of sitting down and then, having to stand back up again was still not an appealing one.

Instead, Raylan stood and watched as a helpless observer while the paramedics loaded the one guy he shot onto a gurney and then, into the back of the ambulance. Then, his attention turned to Tim, as he turned over the larger of the two men, the other one who reeked so damn bad, to the local PD for transport to Booking.

Once the custody of both suspects was transferred, Tim approached Raylan and asked, "Good Lord, what is that smell?"

"I know. Awful, isn't it?" Raylan agreed, as one of the paramedics placed an ice pack on the beaten side of his face and checked out the pupil reaction of his already swollen, black eye with a pen light. Then, speaking to the medic, Raylan said, "Oh, it's not me, honest. It's that guy who evidently doesn't know the meaning of the word _'shower.' _He got his stink all over me when we struggled." Raylan winced when the medic pressed on his bruised orbital socket to check to see if it was broken. It wasn't … but it was sore as hell.

The paramedic worked hurriedly and gave Raylan a quick nod of the head and a look that showed he may not have believed him about the origin of the gagging odor.

"You can go," Raylan was becoming frustrated with the medic, with the entire situation. "I'm fine here. Really. Go!" he raised his voice.

"Okay," the medic said, as he quickly packed up his things and, even more quickly, returned to his truck.

"Run!" "_You coward_," Raylan said under his breath to the medic.

Tim then slowly approached Raylan. "I'm gonna need to get a statement from you."

Raylan looked over at him. "Do you think maybe you could take my statement while I'm in the shower?"

"Good idea," Tim agreed, as he followed Raylan into his room ... from a distance. He was satisfied to stand near the door with it wide open so that he could breathe in some fresh air. "I'm gonna need your weapon, too. Standard Operating Procedure," he had to shout a little so that Raylan could hear him from the bathroom. "Do you have a spare?"

"This one _is_ my spare," Raylan lamented, as he turned on the hot water in the shower, allowing the water to get warm before stepping in. "But yeah, you've got it."

Before disrobing, he walked back out into the room to hand Tim his gun. Tim made some kind of an unpleasant face as Raylan approached.

"How 'bout I leave it right here," Raylan said, as he placed his firearm on the bed between them. "I'm just gonna go and take care of this. I really don't like bein' this unpopular."

And he quickly returned to the bathroom leaving the door a little ajar so that they could talk. Raylan answered all of Tim's questions, including why these two guys who Raylan didn't know would have a motive to kill him. Raylan told Tim all about the jailhouse hearsay of Dickie's threats and that he had told Art about the threats earlier that morning. Once he was all showered, he put on a fresh pair of jeans and a clean t-shirt and placed his smelly clothes in a plastic bag and set them outside. Then, he walked over to the freezer where he found a small bag of frozen peas. The law man always kept a frozen bag of peas in the freezer for occasions such as this. He grabbed the bag, slowly lowered himself into the chair at the table, and placed the ice cold vegetables along the side of his swollen face.

Tim was already seated at the other end of the table, finishing up his paperwork. "What's the address here?" he asked, still scribbling.

"It's on the back of the door," Raylan answered, pointing to the room door.

Tim walked over with his clipboard and scanned the motel's Emergency Instructions, including contact information, posted on the back of the door. Then, he returned to the table to complete the forms. After a few moments, he looked up and said, "Here, you need to sign this." He passed the statement and his pen on over.

Raylan first read the pen scratched statement with his good eye, as the other had almost swollen shut. Satisfied of its accuracy, he took Tim's pen and signed the form. "Once you're all finished up here, would you mind drivin' me to the nearest gun shop?"

Now that he was privy to Raylan's plight of having a price on his head and no weapon, Tim looked up without hesitation and answered, "Sure thing."

About fifteen minutes later, Tim and Raylan were on their way to the Double E Gun Shop in Hazard when Tim got a call on his cell.

"Hey, Art," Tim answered and adjusted his earpiece. "Yeah, he's right here."

Tim quickly changed his phone setting so that Raylan could talk on his phone, and passed the cell over, saying, "Art wants to talk to you."

Raylan raised his uninjured eyebrow and put the cell to his ear. "Yeah?" He was almost afraid to ask.

"Where's your cell?" Art raised his voice, causing Raylan to pull the phone away from his ear. "I've been tryin' to reach you for the last half hour."

"Uh, I guess I left my phone back at the motel," Raylan explained, "but you've got me now."

"Raylan, Dickie Bennett escaped from jail this mornin' when he was in custody, bein' transferred on his way back from a hearing to set his trial date," Art informed him. "Let's just say he had some kind of inside help with this one."

"I'll be damned," Raylan said, his wheels were turning. "Winona," he uttered.

"Don't you worry about Winona," Art said, his voice immediately changed from one of frustration to one of reassurance. "We'll keep an eye on her here."

"Thank you," Raylan said, grateful Winona was still at the court house. "I'll be comin' back there as soon as I can. I have a couple of things I need to take care of first."

_Later that morning ..._

The trip to the gun shop had been a successful one. Tim drove Raylan back to the motel, newly armed with a Glock 26 and extra drop-free magazines. Upon their arrival, Tim first helped Raylan check out the parking lot and his room to make certain everything was secure, and then, he waited as Raylan quickly gathered some things and threw them into a duffel bag. Next, Raylan grabbed his cell phone and charger, as well as his car keys. Tim had been with him long enough that morning to be satisfied that his fellow marshal was no less for the wear after being pummeled. Though the left eye and cheek looked like hell, he seemed to be tracking just fine and showed no sign of a concussion or any kind of impairment.

Raylan had been unable to take any pain meds and decided that foregoing them was a fair trade to being able to drive his own car. So, it was there, at the motel parking lot, that the two marshals got into their respective vehicles and went their separate ways. Raylan took off down the highway with a single focus he had kept to himself: There was something he needed to do before heading back to the court house.

Heading into the long driveway to Ava's house, Raylan was met by the defensive gun barrels of six or seven, scruffy looking men he did not recognize when he stepped out of his car. Flashing his badge with one hand, and securing his hand on his weapon, he shouted, "Hey, Ava?"

Ava came out of the house and through the swinging screen door with her loaded sawed-off shotgun in hand. "Y'all need to back off!" she yelled to the group of men. "The marshal's allowed to come in."

Immediately, the men backed off their weapons and then, went about their business.

"I think we can talk right here," Raylan said.

"Oh, my," Ava said, as she looked at Raylan's face. She looked genuinely concerned. "Raylan. Are you alright?"

"Yeah. I'm fine," he nodded, slowly approaching her. "How are you? Are you recoverin' alright?"

"I'm doin' good," she nodded. "Almost back to normal. Thanks for askin'."

It was almost as if these two had been transported into a world all their own.

But then, Raylan had to bring them back to reality. "Ava, what's up with all the hired fire power?"

"Dickie Bennett. He busted out of jail this mornin'," she answered. "That's what's up."

"I heard about that," he acknowledged. "And where's Boyd? I need to talk to him."

She walked a little closer. "Boyd's not here."

Looking at her from underneath the brim of his hat, he asked, "Do you know where he is or when he'll be comin' back?"

"Well, not really." Ava took in a deep breath. "Dickie's on the lamb, and Boyd is gone. Without tattlin' on Boyd, I'm thinkin' you're a smart man. You can put two and two together." She cocked her head while still holding onto her lowered shotgun.

Raylan relaxed his trigger finger. Then, he asked, "Is Arlo at home?"

"I don't think so," Ava answered. "I think he's hidin' out. He has some extra, hired fire power, too. You know, just to be on the safe side." Then, she noticeably softened her tone for, no matter how hard she tried not to, she always had a soft spot for Raylan Givens. "Your Daddy's okay, so far as I know." She gave him a little smile. "You can act like you don't care about him all you want, Raylan. I just thought you'd like to know."

Raylan gave her a little smile back, for he always had a little soft spot for her, too. "Thanks, I appreciate that, Ava." Then, he tipped his hat. "Don't you worry. I'll find Boyd before he finds Dickie. And yes, I did not hear anything from you."

As he was walking way, Ava followed him. "Hey, Raylan."

Raylan turned around to face her.

She continued, "You didn't hear this from me either, but I heard Boyd engagin' in some talk about some storage facility in Three Point."

Raylan tightened his jaw and shook his head in acknowledgement. Then, in leaving, he added, "Don't you worry. I heard nothin' from you."

Once back in his car, he drove towards the highway that would take him to Three Point, and he pulled out his cell phone and hit his speed dial. "Hey, Art. It's Raylan. I'm lettin' you know that I may need some backup over at a storage facility in Three Point."

Art was dumbfounded. Tim had just returned and told his boss that Raylan was following him to the court house. "And exactly why are you in Three Point? You're supposed to be here!" he raised his voice into the receiver.

"Because I hear that Boyd and Arlo are there. You know damn well that Boyd is lookin' for Dickie Bennett," he calmly explained.

"And how do you know that Arlo and Boyd are in Three Point?" Art asked. He couldn't wait to hear the explanation.

"I can't tell you that," Raylan responded, keeping his promise to Ava.

"What do you mean you can't tell me?" Art was quickly losing his cool.

"Hey, I did call you before rushin' in, just as you asked me to do," Raylan reminded him.

In frustration, Art ran his fingers over the top of his balding head. "Yeah, you gotta point there. That is an improvement … for you." Thinking for a moment, he finally said, "I'm gonna send Tim and Rachel out to meet you. You are out on medical leave. In other words, you're on inactive duty. I don't want you goin' over there alone. Do I make myself clear?"

"You do," Raylan acquiesced. He was in no position to do otherwise.

Over the next 20 minutes, Raylan contacted Tim and arranged to meet him and deputy marshal Rachel Brooks at Pope Cemetery, right off of Highway 987.

The three marshals checked out the small, rural cemetery to make certain it was all clear and then, they secreted themselves behind a structure that looked like it housed the lawn mower, gardening tools, and lawn chemicals for the grounds.

"Those boys sure did a number on your face," Rachel winced, commenting on the swelling and discoloration of the left side of Raylan's eye.

"My face is the least of my problems," Raylan flatly said.

"We found that the only storage facility in Three Point is out by the boat launch at Martins Fork Lake, further down Highway 987," Tim informed him.

"I know where that is," Raylan said. He used to go swimming there in the summer when he was a boy. "Now, listen. I've got to go in there alone. If Boyd or Arlo think I brought the two of you with me, they won't talk to me. Neither one of them."

"I'm not so sure that would be true if I came with you," Rachel said. "Arlo has no respect for me as a law enforcement officer ... because I'm black and I'm a woman. I get the feeling Boyd Crowder feels the same way."

"She's right," Tim chimed in. "You should take Rachel with you, and I'll hang back with my rifle with the scope. Just in case you should need me."

As embarrassed as Raylan was to admit it, what Rachel said about Arlo was true. The prejudice and the ignorance of his father's generation were so far beyond rationality and deeply engrained, it would literally have to die off. "You can go with me on one condition," Raylan looked at Rachel. "That you understand that in the case of me respectin' you as a marshal, a woman, and a human being, this apple has nothin' to do with that ignorant, old tree."

Rachel gave a little smile. "I know you don't share Arlo's feelings. I wouldn't be able to work with you if you did. You are in no way responsible for him and his beliefs."

"Good," Raylan shook his head, "because to be honest, it's embarrasin' havin' a father who thinks the way Arlo does."

"These hollers are full of people like Arlo," Rachel said, "afraid of people who are different from them. I actually feel quite sorry for them."

"I don't," Raylan said. "They have a chance to change, and they choose not to." After a beat he asked, "You ready to head on out?"

"Ready," Rachel responded, and she slid into the passenger side of Raylan's car.

_To be continued ..._


	5. Chapter 5

Title: Hostile Takeover, Hillbilly Style (5/10)

Author: Romantique

Email:

Classification: Raylan/Winona Drama/Romance

Rating: T for coarse language, violence, suggestive sexual situations. No worse than the show.

Summary: A brand new Justified fan, this is my first Justified fic. What happens next?

Disclaimer: SPOILERS: Takes place immediately after 'Bloody Harlan.'

Legal: These characters do not belong to me. I'm just a fan and have not made a dime. Please email me to obtain permission to post.

Raylan drove his Lincoln Town Car with Rachel in tow down a long, dusty gravel road, slowly enough so as not to stir up a noticeable cloud of dust. The road led to a small parking lot adjacent the boat launch on Martins Fork Lake. Clear on the other side of the lot was the storage facility, exactly where Ava had told him it would be. He quickly noted several cars parked even further out into the lot, including Ava's old pickup truck. That could only mean one thing: Boyd was there.

Just as Raylan reached the far edge of the lot, he cut the car engine's motor. Then, he double-checked his magazine to make certain it was properly loaded into the new Glock and quickly returned it into its holster. Tim had parked outside of the park and made his way in on foot, closer to his partners; and then, he secreted himself in the surrounding wooded terrain, perched high to give himself full vantage over the scene. Over the past couple of years, a trust between Raylan and Tim had developed to where it was okay if Raylan couldn't see where Tim stationed himself. All Raylan needed to know was that Tim was there and had his back.

"I don't need to be reminded of my employment status," Raylan looked Rachel in the eye where she remained in the passenger's seat, patting his personal weapon. "I am here and fully capable if necessary. Understood?"

Happy to have one of the fastest draws she'd ever seen seated next to her, _'by the book'_ Rachel nodded in agreement without any hesitation. Although Raylan was an inactive marshal, Rachel knew him well enough to know he would never draw his weapon first, unless their lives were threatened. They both then exited the car, and Rachel quickly fell behind a few steps, allowing Raylan to take the lead. Both had their hands posed near their weapons in the 'ready' position.

"How did you find me, here?" Boyd asked, as he approached the marshal from the shed with a shotgun held casually in his hand with the barrel pointed down towards the ground. Boyd had seen them park, and he knew Raylan's car.

"We have our marshal ways," Raylan gave his old friend a smile, figuring it was best just to keep things nice and vague. "Dickie Bennett escaped from jail this mornin'," Raylan said, as casually as if he had been giving a report of the weather.

"Is that right?" Boyd flashed back with a big smile of white teeth.

"You don't seem like you're all that surprised by my news," Raylan pursed his lips upon making this observation.

"Well now, what exactly are you insinuatin', Raylan? Why would you think I would ever help Dickie Bennett escape from jail?" Boyd was well aware of Rachel's presence and her ready posture.

"So, you can find him first and kill him?" Raylan answered without missing a beat. "It's a hell of a lot easier for you to kill him from outside the jail, than it is from the inside."

Suddenly losing his smile, Boyd flatly stated, "If this is your way of askin' me where Dickie Bennett is, I do not know. I do know one thing, though. He's definitely not here."

Raylan looked over his surroundings, across the parking lot, into the trees, and then, he scanned across the lake and to the other side. "Would you tell me if you do find him?"

Still very aware he and Raylan were not alone, Boyd glanced over at Rachel and then, back at Raylan. "Of course I would," he answered, although not very convincingly.

Changing the subject completely, Raylan then asked, "Can I speak to Arlo?"

Raising an eyebrow, Boyd answered the question with yet another question. "What makes you think _he'd_ be here?"

Raylan gave a little laugh. "Again, I _know_ he's here. Like I said, we marshals have our ways."

Less than a moment later, Arlo, looking older than his years came walking out of the storage shed carrying a sawed off shot gun.

"What the hell are you doin' here?" the old man growled at his son, squinting in the bright sunlight. Arlo also couldn't help but notice that, since the last time he saw him, the side of his son's face had seen better days.

"I came to talk to you," Raylan very matter-of-factly answered.

"I'm not talkin' to you with that Nigress listenin' in on our conversation," Arlo sniped, as he glared over at Rachel.

"I'll give you your privacy," Rachel said as she nodded, showing the old man far more respect than he had shown to her, which happened to be none.

She walked over towards the boat launch, as Boyd also walked away to leave the two Givens men some space to converse.

"Thanks," Raylan tipped his hat in gratitude in Rachel's direction, and then, in Boyd's. Then, he turned his attention back to his father. "Can we talk inside?" Raylan motioned to the storage shed, disgusted by his father's behavior.

"I'd rather not," Arlo appeared to be preventing Raylan from going inside.

"Why not, Arlo?" Raylan raised his uninjured eyebrow. "Is there somethin' in there you don't want me to see?"

The older man glared without answering his son.

"Word is, not only did you and Boyd steal back Dickie's weed business while he was incarcerated ... which as you know, I don't give a flip about until the Fed tells me to ... but now, you've become even greedier in your old age," Raylan orated. "And you and Boyd are steppin' into the _'Hillbilly Heroin'_ business. And that is somethin' the Fed _does_ care about."

"Oxycontin?" the old man asked. "You know I don't mess with that sheet."

"Meth is the one and only thing you said you don't mess with," Raylan corrected his old man. "You've never said you wouldn't mess with oxycontin."

"Did you know that Dickie Bennett put a contract out on my head? And on yours?" the old man abruptly changed the subject.

Raylan slowly brought his hand up to the bruised left side of his face. "Boy, do I ever."

"Then, you know ... alls I'm tryin' to do is to stay alive," the old man explained, sounding sincere.

On some level, Raylan knew that to be true. "If you're traffickin' oxycontin, I'm gonna have to arrest you," Raylan warned, abruptly changing the subject back to the reason why he came.

"Hell, you shot me," the old man would never left Raylan forget it. "So, I don't suppose I'd be surprised at anythin' you'd do to me."

"You'd be safer in jail," Raylan pushed the brim of his hat up and away from his eyes, "than you are here. 

"How can you say that?" the old man was becoming feistier by the minute. "Dickie had help on the inside to break outta there. No, thank you. I'll take my chances out here."

"Suit yourself," Raylan said. "But I'm serious about the oxycontin. You'd better not let me find you anywhere near the stuff."

Raylan turned on the heel of his boot to walk away. As he headed toward the boat launch to join Rachel, Boyd approached him and began to walk with him, almost as if he was escorting Raylan out of the area.

"I'm gonna tell you the same thing I just told Arlo," Raylan clenched his jaw. "I'd better not catch you anywhere near oxycontin, or I'm gonna have to arrest you. You know this is gettin' into the realm of Federal charges."

"Well, I appreciate the warnin'," Boyd glared, "but there is nothin' in that storage shed you need to be concernin' yourself with."

Abruptly changing the subject, Raylan asked. "Honestly, Boyd. If you happen to find Dickie, will you let me know?" Then, he continued walking towards the boat launch.

"Don't you worry about Arlo," Boyd ignored the question. "I'll make sure he's okay."

Then, it was Boyd who turned on his heel and walked away, back towards the storage shed. By not answering the question, Boyd told Raylan exactly what he already knew to be true: He had better get to Dickie Bennett, first.

_Later that evening_

_Texas Roadhouse in Lexington_

Raylan eventually did return to the court house late that afternoon, where he picked up Winona, leaving her car in the employee parking lot. He then took her out to dinner to a steakhouse, across town.

She had waited for him in the Marshals Office and overheard enough from both Tim and Rachel to learn that Dickie Bennett had escaped and that he put a hit out on Raylan. His fellow marshals had no way of knowing that Raylan had not told everything that was going on to Winona.

"Forget it," Winona forcefully argued, whispering from the cozy, candle-lit booth, trying very hard to keep her voice down and not cause a scene. "I'm _not_ leaving. My job is here. You're here."

Poking at his baked potato with his fork, Raylan sighed. He also learned his fellow deputies had let the cast out of the bag, so to speak. "Look, I need you to go away to someplace safe. Look what they did to me," he said, pointing at his the battered side of his face. "If they're after me, they could go after you, next. It'll only be for a little while."

"I don't understand why you can't come with me?" she asked, obviously upset by his idea of her leaving ... alone. "It's not like your doctor is going to release you to go back to work any time soon." She was well aware of his recovery schedule that had clearly been extended by this latest ass whipping. Art had already made it clear he could not return to work without a doctor's okay.

"I will," he hemmed and hawed. "I'll join you as soon as I can. I promise."

"No. I'm not going into protection." Winona was a force to be reckoned with when she made up her mind about something. "There has to be another way."

Dropping his fork onto his plate and taking his napkin out of his lap and throwing it onto the table in frustration, Raylan then raked his fingers through his hair, as he let out a large, pent up sigh. He was normally as cool as a cucumber but suddenly, he was reminded of exactly how this woman's stubbornness could always get to him. For that reason, he had been one to wisely choose his battles with her. Unfortunately, this was going to be one of those times when he could not afford to back down. She was now, after all, pregnant with his child. Their physical safety was something that was non-negotiable in his eyes.

Sensing by his reaction that she may have come on too strong, Winona decided to soften her tone. "I should at least be able to stay here, in town, in Lexington."

Raylan offered no response. He wouldn't even look at her. This was nothing to fool around with.

"I haven't even had a chance to talk to you about this, but today, I was called in to record two depositions. The one this morning was for Sarah Jean Bennett, Doyle Bennett's wife." Winona then took a sip of water, while looking to see if Raylan was even listening to what she was saying. She couldn't tell whether he was or wasn't, but she decided to go on. "It appears that her boys are the sole heirs to Mags Bennett's estate with Sarah Jean to be named as the Trust Administrator. And of course, Sarah Jean is also the Trust Administrator and heir to Doyle's estate. There's a sizeable life insurance policy from the County of Bennett for Doyle. $750,000 will be released to her within 30 days."

"Does she have other family?" Raylan asked, finally making eye contact.

"Uh, yeah," Winona answered, reaching across the table, placing her hand over hers. "She has a brother and his family here, in Lexington."

Taking in a deep breath, Raylan, mumbled, "So much for Dickie becomin' the _'King Pin of Harlan_ _County'_."

"That's kinda what I was thinking," she smiled at him, referring to the contracts out on his and Arlo's heads.

"Then, this afternoon, I was called in to record a deposition on the Green Mountain Project. They filed an Interpleader, asking the Court to tell them who they are to pay the money to for the sale. It seems that Mags Bennett was not the rightful owner of the land sale after all."

He looked up at her in dumbfounded silence.

"That's right." she went on. "As the owner of Indian Line and Helen's surviving spouse, Arlo is the owner of Indian Line. The judge ruled the formation of Green Mountain Project to be against anti-trust laws and ordered that it be immediately dissolved. Black Pike will have to re-negotiate with each individual land owner. And the portion of the money that would have been paid to Mags for Indian Line is to be reverted back to Arlo as the legal spouse of your Aunt Helen."

"Was Arlo there?" Raylan was genuinely surprised to hear this news and relieved to hear that, although the deal was off, the other farm owners would not have their land seized by eminent domain.

"Yeah, he was there," Winona nodded. "He agreed to the purchase price and was given a cashier's check."

Suddenly, it became clear to him where Arlo and Boyd got the credit line to also step into the oxycontin business.

Giving his hand a squeeze, she continued, "So maybe we just need to wait this Dickie Bennett business out for a little while longer. You know, until he's back in custody."

"Maybe," he said, allowing the gravity of Winona's situation, based on this news, to slowly dissipate. Unfortunately, he knew too much about Arlo's activities that he couldn't share with her, that he couldn't share with Art just yet, either.

Winona reached over the table, picked up his napkin, and gently placed it in his lap, intentionally allowing her hand to linger there under the table.

"You'd better eat your steak, Cowboy," she warned. "Because you're gonna need your strength later tonight."

Raylan quizzically looked at her.

Then, she leaned over and whispered in his ear. "Did you know it's true what they say about pregnant women being horny?"

Raylan smiled. "Is that so?"

She answered him by giving a little squeeze from underneath the napkin.

Raylan was so instantly turned on that he looked around, spied the waitress, and waved her over to their table. "I think we're gonna need a couple of doggie bags ... and the check."

In what seemed to be an eternity, Raylan paid the bill at the restaurant, got in his car with Winona, and headed down the street, where they then checked into the Double Tree Hotel under an assumed name, a trick he had picked up on the job. The rate was more expensive than he would have liked, but it was the closest game in town, and time was of the essence. He grabbed a couple of bags from the trunk that he packed at the motel and then, they quickly headed up the elevator and down the hall to their 4th floor room. After he swiped the card key and opened the door, he quickly dropped the bags onto the floor and took his gun out of its holster. He carefully placed the weapon in the top drawer of the nightstand while Winona turned on the lights in the room.

"Wow, this is nice," she smiled, a far cry from that dump of a motel where he had been staying. "It smells really good, too ... like lavender."

"I can do this for a night or two until we figure out what we're doin,'" he smiled, beckoning her to come to him. Taking her into his arms, he nuzzled up close to her ear. "So, what was this you were tellin' me about pregnant women bein' horny?"

Allowing her hands to explore his body over his clothes, she seductively kissed him. "I think it would be better if I showed you."

Then, she pushed him backwards until he fell onto the bed. She reached down, grabbed his boot and pulled it off and then, the other. Next, she climbed on top of his prone body and unbuckled his belt and unbuttoned the top button of his Levis, followed by slowly unzipping the fly of his jeans.

He lay there across the bed on top of the bedspread, looking up at her in utter amazement. "How does bein' pregnant make a woman horny?" He honestly wanted to know.

Helping him wiggle out of his tight jeans, she answered, "Well, there's no fear of getting pregnant. I mean, you've already knocked me up."

"I'm pretty sure you were there, too," he smiled and continued, "enjoyin' every minute."

She quickly helped him remove his boxers and pull off his shirt and t-shirt.

Then, she climbed up back on top of him, while she peeled off her clothes. "How about you quit talking and make Momma happy." She smiled down at him, her hair cascading around the both of them.

"Yes, ma'am," he whispered and immediately went to work.

_To be continued ..._


	6. Chapter 6

Title: Hostile Takeover, Hillbilly Style (6/10)

Author: Romantique

Email:

Classification: Raylan/Winona Drama/Romance

Rating: T for coarse language, violence, suggestive sexual situations. No worse than the show.

Summary: A brand new Justified fan, this is my first Justified fic. What happens next?

Disclaimer: SPOILERS: Takes place immediately after 'Bloody Harlan.'

Legal: These characters do not belong to me. I'm just a fan and have not made a dime. Please email me to obtain permission to post.

_Double Tree Hotel_

Raylan awoke bright and early the next lying morning next to Winona, as bright rays of sunlight glinted through the blinds of their hotel room. Even after all the _'exhilarating'_ lovemaking from the night before, he woke to find himself surprisingly well rested. He was still recovering from his injuries, and it was Winona who, once again, took the lead last night in doing the heavy lifting. He had to admit that he rather liked this new, more sexually aggressive side of his lady love.

Considering the physicality of it all combined with the first trimester of pregnancy, he concluded last night must have taken a lot out of the mother of his child. Normally a light sleeper, Winona didn't even stir while he was getting showered and dressed or when the bellman brought him a carafe of French roast coffee and a basket of freshly baked cheese Danishes and croissants, her favorite. In fact, he had to wake her out of a sound sleep before leaving. But first, he made her promise not to leave the room until he returned, which he thought would be before noon, and to please order room service for the two of them for lunch and charge it to the room. Then, he leaned down to the side of the bed, gave her a soulful lover's kiss, and made her promise to lock the extra door lock behind him.

Leading his sleepy love to the door by the hand, he turned to kiss her one more time. She seemed to enjoy the kiss, but she wasn't as into it as she normally would have been. Taking the hint that she needed some more sleep, Raylan picked up the _'Do Not Disturb'_ sign from the door knob and placed it outside the door, locking the doorknob and closing the door behind him. Outside of their room, he leaned his tall, lanky frame against the wall in hallway, tipped his hat back off his face and stood there, waiting until he heard Winona lock the door from the other side.

Once satisfied she was safe and sound for the time being, Raylan left the hotel lobby to go to his car and begin the drive to the court house. He made it all of about half way there before he abruptly stopped, deciding instead to first make a detour back out to Martins Fork Lake.

The drive out of the city was a long and peaceful one, in the early morning sun. He managed to make it outside of Lexington before the commuter traffic became its heaviest. Once outside the city, he enjoyed the kind of a drive that gave a man the time and space to think. For one thing, he couldn't help but think about becoming a father, something he always dreamed he would be. And while it was true he hadn't planned on doing it in exactly the sequence of not being married to the mother of his child, he had been happy and content ever since Winona told him the news. He only hoped he could find an honorable way to support his family, a less dangerous way. Going back to Glynco was the perfect solution, but finding out that Art could not go to bat for him was not good news at all. And yet, rather than working hard to get back into Art's good graces … here he found himself, again, going out and doing his own investigation without the knowledge and the backup of the Marshal Service. While it was true that he was technically out on leave, he also knew that if Art ever found out what he was doing, Art would never see it as anything other than a renegade deputy going against regulations. Raylan eventually rationalized the whole thing in his mind as needing to find some hard evidence first … before bringing in the brigade. For as Raylan well knew from growing up in these parts of Kentucky, any whiff of Federals would cause all these hillbillies to scatter with the wind, without leaving a trace of evidence. They were like cock roaches in that regard.

As he drove, he continued questioning the sanity of his decisions. Perhaps he was getting soft because he was soon going to become a father? Perhaps it was wishful thinking on his part that his Daddy wasn't such a bad guy after all … maybe Arlo possessed _some _redeeming qualities worthy of Raylan's concern? Maybe there was a part of Raylan who wanted to tell Arlo that he was going to be a grandfather? But another, bigger part of Raylan knew better. He knew Arlo was no good, lower than low, possessing no redeeming qualities worthy of _anyone's_ concern. And he knew that he did not want his old man anywhere near his child. Raylan finally rationalized that he could at least go down there and observe what _'no__ good'_ was actually taking place at the lake because nothing would give him greater pleasure than to personally arrest Arlo and throw his ass in jail for a long, long time.

And then, of course, there was Dickie Bennett … still at large.

The deputy marshal cut the motor and put his car in _'Park'_ off the road, near where Tim had parked only yesterday. On foot, he quietly hiked into the woods, towards the parking lot, and secreted himself behind a row of trees. For such an early morning on the lake, he noticed a flurry of activity coming and going between the storage shed and a dark blue Chevy pickup truck with a blue camper shell, parked near the shed. It was suspicious activity. Raylan recognized the driver as one of Boyd's minions. Several backpacks and a sawed off shotgun were loaded into the truck from the direction of the shed, followed by handshakes and back slaps from a couple of other guys, with Boyd and Arlo finally bringing up the rear. The first two men he saw climbed into the front seat of the truck and took off down the road, the road near where Raylan was positioned. He waited for the truck to pass him, ready with a pad and pen to jot down the license plate number. Yet when the truck sped by, Raylan noted the truck was caked in mud, including the back license plate, making it impossible to read. Raylan did manage to get a better physical description of the driver and his passenger and quickly jotted it down. He thought to himself that, if that wasn't a drug pickup he'd just witnessed, he didn't know what was.

_Back at the Court House_

Raylan made it back to the Marshals Services Office before 11:00 a.m. and went in to see Art to bring his boss up to speed on what Winona had told him the night before. But first, he told Art about Winona vehemently vetoing the idea of going into protection … and then, about the change in the payout coming from Black Pike due to a judge's ruling.

"Yeah, Winona strikes me as the kind of woman who does not like bein' told what to do," Art nodded. "God bless you, Raylan," he continued with a little playful sarcasm in his voice, referring to their impending parenthood. Art pretty much figured that it was Winona who wore the pants in this soon-to-be family.

"Yeah. She's pretty much used to bein' in control of _her_ life," Raylan smiled, nodding his head in agreement. "So, I guess our plan is now to wait it out, outside of Harlan County, until Dickie Bennett is captured," Raylan continued, offering Art a bone of staying out of Harlan. Then, he half-way quipped, "Or until Boyd kills him, whichever comes first."

"Do we really care?" Art asked, continuing to keep things light. "I mean, whichever comes first? Either way, problem's over for you and Winona."

"That is true," Raylan clenched his jaw, secretly hoping that he would, indeed, find Dickie first.

"But then, again," Art continued, "we've got Arlo out there. I mean no matter what, Raylan, he's _still_ your Daddy."

"You mean my _'criminal'_Daddy," Raylan smirked. "Hell, I can't save the man from himself."

Then, after a beat, Art he asked Raylan, "Did you ever see the movie _'Second Hand Lions?'_"

"Naw, can't say I did," Raylan replied. "Why?"

Art scrubbed his face from behind his desk. "Well, there's a line in that movie that describes your relationship with Arlo to a _'tee.'_ Somethin' about not blamin' a kid for his parent's influence because that parent is_'__just no damn_ _good.__'_"

Raylan shook his head in disgust. "Thanks. I appreciate the sentiment," Raylan finally said. Then, he went on and changed the subject a bit. "Arlo and Boyd, they're hidin' somethin' they're not supposed to have in that storage shed. I just know it."

"Yeah, Tim and Rachel said they suspected the same thing," Art continued.

Then, Raylan worked up to admitting where he had been earlier that morning. "I went back out to the lake this mornin' to see Arlo, and I witnessed what appeared to be a drug pickup from that storage shed. Now, they're hillbillies with money, the most dangerous kind. I guess next, we can look forward to Boyd blowin' more shit up."

"I thought you just said you and Winona were gonna stay out of Harlan?" Surprised, yet not really, Art asked, "Why didn't you call me?"

"I said our plan is to stay out of Harlan, startin' _now_," Raylan winced.

"Well, that _sorta_ tells me how you rationalize goin' down there this morning, but it sure as hell doesn't answer the question about you not callin' me first," Art was obviously less than pleased with his deputy marshal … again.

"Because I really don't have much yet in the way of evidence," Raylan admitted. Then, he ripped out the piece of paper containing his notes from his pad and handed it to his boss. "Here's a physical description of the truck and the driver and his passenger. The license plate was caked with mud. It's a Kentucky plate. I wasn't close enough to get a better look, as I did not want to let my presence to be known."

"Did you see anything else?" Art asked, taking the piece of paper from Raylan.

"Only that several camouflage backpacks were bein' loaded from that storage shed at the lake into the truck, along with a sawed off shotgun," Raylan admitted. "And now, findin' out that Arlo has a direct credit line to a boat load of money? You can just imagine what might have been in those backpacks," Raylan connected the dots.

Art didn't answer.

"I would have called sooner if I thought I had anything solid," Raylan tried to explain.

"Are you sure it's not because your family is back in the money, again," Art asked, as an obvious question for an experienced interrogator. He could never understand why Raylan was so hesitant to call for help, he was admittedly grasping at straws. Then, Art decided to add, "Sorry, Raylan. I have to ask."

Questioning the question, Raylan looked puzzled. "Oh, I understand. I'd asked exactly the same thing in your position." Then, he continued. "If Arlo does have money, sure as hell, none of it will ever come my way," he stated as a fact. "I burned my bridges in that regard with Arlo a long, long time ago. And besides, Art, that money is _dirty_. I want no part of it."

"Like I said, I'm just askin'," Art said, trying to be thorough.

Raylan deliberately changed the subject. "Now, back to that blue pickup … I followed it into town, and then lost them in traffic, headed out east."

Art let out a pent up sigh. "_You_, sir, are not goin' to have to worry _about any of that_ because you're _off duty_," Art reminded Raylan, the tone of his voice abruptly changing from light and with a little sarcasm to serious and stern. "If we need you to talk to Arlo, I'll let you know. Otherwise, I don't want to see you anywhere near Arlo nor Boyd nor Dickie nor the lake. You hear me?" After a beat, Art tempered his tone. "By the way, thank you for comin' down here and briefin' me on those court reportin' sessions. I appreciate it. But the fact remains: You and Winona need to stay out of sight until we have Dickie Bennett in custody."

All Raylan could say was, "Yeah, and that's exactly what I _plan_ to do … stay out of sight." By phrasing it precisely so, Raylan rationalized that he wasn't exactly lying to his boss, and that sometimes … things don't always go according to plan.

Art knew Raylan well enough to know exactly what Raylan meant.

_To be continued . . . _


	7. Chapter 7

Title: Hostile Takeover, Hillbilly Style (7/10)

Author: Romantique

Email:

Classification: Raylan/Winona Drama/Romance

Rating: M for coarse language, violence, suggestive sexual situations. This chapter contains more explicit sexual situations.

Summary: A brand new Justified fan, this is my first Justified fic. What happens next?

Disclaimer: SPOILERS: Takes place immediately after 'Bloody Harlan.'

Legal: These characters do not belong to me. I'm just a fan and have not made a dime. Please email me to obtain permission to post.

_Back at the Doubletree Hotel_

Winona twirled her fork around and around in her plate of linguine, seated at a small table in their hotel room. "Are you still thinking that Arlo did something he shouldn't be doing with all that money?" She could read her man like a book.

Seated next to her and not about to admit that he'd gone back the lake that morning, Raylan answered her. "At first I thought that," Raylan nodded, in between bites of warm bread. "But the more I think about it, the more positive I think I'm right." He could also not bring himself to tell her the details about his suspicions of his father getting into the Hillbilly Heroin business. Even at his age and more so with a badge, his father's criminal tendencies still had a way of embarrassing him. And then, there were some things of the criminal nature, whether on the job or not, that he would never share with her.

"I think Art's right. You don't have any business being around any of them until they apprehend Dickie Bennett." She then reached across the table and grabbed his hand. "Raylan, promise me you'll let Art and Tim and Rachael handle this one." Her blue eyes glistened in their intensity. "Please?"

Using his tongue to remove a piece of chicken lodged between his teeth. He winced a little, as the movement triggered jab of pain, reminding him of the pummeling that side of his face had taken, only days before. He then deliberately changed the subject. "I screwed up."

Looking up at him, Winona asked, "What do you mean you _screwed up_?"

"On the job," he continued. "I have this tendency to not ask for back-up. You know, doing it all on my own which is not _'by __the book'_ procedure_._" He used his hands for emphasis in explaining himself.

Winona's eyes suddenly became large.

"You know I didn't call for back up when I was hung up on the tree and then later that day, was shot," he reminded her.

Of course she knew. Winona was the one who all but begged Art for back up for him that day.

"I mean, I've been better about it, since then," Raylan continued, and then raised his eyebrows. "I had back up yesterday when we went and visited Arlo." Then, it immediately occurred to him he wasn't that much better, as he once again flirted with trouble by going it alone, only this morning.

"And?" she asked, waiting for the other shoe to drop, not knowing what that shoe might be.

Shifting in his seat, he continued, "And Art said because I've screwed up in the past, he can't go to bat for me for Glynco. You see, there's a hirin' freeze because of this screwy recession. So, they're gonna say _'no,'_ right off the bat to a transfer or a promotion because they're sayin' no to everything. But the not callin' for back up is preventin' him from wantin' to really push the issue, right now." Raylan continued to talk with his hands. "He said he can't go to bat for me, not at this time."

"I've said it before, and I'll say it again …You just don't want to go," Winona quickly surmised, and just as quickly withdrew her hand away from his arm.

"That's not true," he leaned forward, trying to make a connection with her eyes. "I'm tellin' you the truth. If you don't believe me, you can ask Art yourself."

"Do you not think I will?" she asked, as a threat.

"I wish you would," he insisted. "It seems it's the only way we're goin' to settle this."

There, he had called her bluff. And suddenly, Winona knew he was telling the truth because he knew that she would ask Art at her earliest opportunity.

"This is a fine mess you've got me in," she declared. She dropped her fork in her plate, suddenly losing her pregnant appetite. Then, she leaned back in her chair, creating distance between them. "Pregnant and a potential kidnapping target … just because I know you?"

"As if your life was any better when you were with Gary?" Raylan pointed out with the fire of jealousy his eyes.

"Now, why would you want to bring up Gary?" she asked, the tone in her voice was miffed. "Although what you say is true," she just a quickly admitted.

"You know what I do," he raised an eyebrow. "You've known it all along. And you don't have to make me sound like you didn't know what you were getting' yourself back into with me … again."

She knew. Of course she knew … better than anyone. "We're never gonna get out of this crazy, violent life, are we?" she asked.

"Yes, we are," he insisted, with exasperation in his voice. "I told you I'd get out of this job. You've just need to give me more time."

Placing her hands over her swollen abdomen as a gesture, she bitingly said, "I don't know if you've noticed, but I don't have a whole lot of time here."

He reached across the table to take her hand, but she pulled it away from him. In his softest, most understanding voice, he said, "I know this is not the kind of life you want."

"Yeah, well it's _very_ different this time," she argued. "There's a baby involved … not just me."

"I promise," he acknowledged. "I'll figure somethin´ out."

"You said yourself you don't have any other skills, than marshaling. I'm not holding out a lot of hope here," she said, defensively crossing her arms in front of her. "I mean, what are you gonna do? Go work for some security company for peanuts? I can't ask you to do that." Then, after a beat, she went on. "Glynco was our only way out." Staring off in the distance, she remarked, "The skills you have can either be used for good, the way you use them … or for evil, the way Arlo uses them."

"Please … _don't __ever_ compare me to Arlo again." Now, it was Raylan who was clearly becoming touchy again.

"Why? What I'm saying is true," she tried to explain her previous remark. "It's just that you have integrity that will not allow you to do something against the law. I mean, look at me? Even I took some of that money out of the evidence locker. I was surprised to find that I have a little bit of larceny in me. But you? No way."

"I'm not _pure_," Raylan corrected her. "I break the rules. And I know I'm breakin' 'em while I'm breakin' 'em. That is _not_ the definition of integrity."

"You're a good man, Raylan," she corrected him. "Especially considering your background. In fact, it's a miracle you _didn't_ follow in Arlo's footsteps."

"Well … I'm glad you can see the difference," he said, his mouth chewing on a bite of his fried chicken. "When I was about six or seven years old, I remember Arlo teachin' me to play _'5 Card Draw'_ over Christmas break. He played with real money, he cheated, and he kept my money that I had been savin' for a bike. To make matters worse, he drank all his money away, so we didn't have Christmas under the tree that year. That was also the year Arlo decided I needed to know there was no Santa Claus." Raylan hung his head. "My Aunt Helen took me shoppin' the sales the day after Christmas to try and make it up to me. I didn't get a bike, but she bought me a few nice things. I grew up real fast that year … too fast." Then, he looked up at Winona. "I would never think of doin' somethin' like that to our kid. I just want you to know that … I'm not at all like him."

In listening to Raylan, a lump formed in Winona's throat. She reached over and took his hand. "I know."

He was calmer after telling his story. "Are you still mad at me for screwin' up our plans? Although, I was not aware I was screwin' 'em up until Art informed me I was."

"I'm upset we can't go to Glynco," she answered. Her tone was beginning to soften. She uncrossed her arms and leaned forward towards the table, closer to him. "But I can't just leave and get away from you, away from your job. Not this time. There's a baby to consider. You're the baby's father."

"It's not fair to you," he said, wiping the corner of his mouth with his napkin. "I get it. I know how you feel about the dangers of the job. You've been real up front about it." Leaning forward, he attempted to take her hand in his again. This time, she allowed him to take it. He gave her hand a squeeze.

"Yes, I have." Winona gazed into his eyes and nodded. And then, she leaned towards him. He met her lean, and they softly kissed which led to deeper kissing, igniting an undying passion that always landed them back in the same place … in bed, aching for one another.

Make up sex was the best kind of sex. It was tender and sweet and as slow as molasses. Raylan's stamina was becoming stronger with each passing day. He coaxed Winona to move down from up on top of him and lie beside him, facing him, on top of the bedspread. They silently gazed into the honesty of the other's eyes that sparkled in the light of day. Raylan gently stroked Winona's hair as he slowly entered her, met by her slow, opposing movements. They fell into a deliberate rhythm that came from years of familiarity, making slow, sensuous love … continuing for what seemed like hours suspended in time. Their movements ebbed and flowed, the pleasure was exquisite until they effortlessly reached a crescendo, and then, a mutually satisfying release. Raylan could have sworn that if Winona hadn't already been pregnant, he certainly would have impregnated her, right them and there. He smiled at his status as _'father-to-be.'_ Afterwards, they lay in the middle of the bed holding onto the other's shaking and quaking body. He reached over for the corner of the bedspread and pulled it over them, as they snuggled even closer together and drifted off into a delicious sleep.

Raylan was awakened from that delicious sleep by the ring tone of his cell phone. By now, the room was getting darker. He reached over to the end table and grabbed his phone. Its backlit screen clearly showed that _'__Ava__'_ was calling. Still cradled in his shoulder, Winona opened her eyes and saw the maker of the call, not at all pleased by this woman who continued to call her man whenever she needed something. How she wished Ava would find a good man of her own.

"Hey," Raylan quickly answered.

"Listen, Raylan, I wouldn't be callin' you, but Boyd says he needs to see you," Ava Crowder explained. "Somethin's up, and he wants to know if you could meet him at P-Joe's Bait and Tackle over near the lake, tonight?"

Raylan was familiar with the bait and tackle shop, as he had passed it several times in the past 48 hours. It was not as if there were a lot of landmarks out by that small lake. He quickly glanced at the illuminated dial on his watch. It was already 6:00 p.m. Thinking that was an odd place to meet, he asked, "Is he sure the bait shop still open this time of night?"

"Oh, yeah," she said. "It's the only place for miles to get cigarettes, milk, you know, feminine hygiene protection." The tone of her voice was flirty. "It's not only for fishin' and boatin'. It's also a convenience store."

After a silence, Ava added, "He sounded like he really needs to see you … tonight, like it's important and can't wait until tomorrow."

"Alright," Raylan reluctantly acquiesced to Boyd's relayed request. "But would you tell him it's gonna take a while for me to get there?"

After he disconnected the call, Winona immediately asked, "What does _she_ want?" Winona was well aware that Ava still had the _'hots'_ for her man.

Detecting a hint of irritation and jealously in her voice, Raylan explained, as he sat up in bed. "Boyd wants to meet me. He can't call me directly because he's bein' watched. So, he has Ava do it for him. That is all that is goin' on."

"Oh," she said, somewhat satisfied with his answer. "But you're seriously not going to meet Boyd _now_, are you?"

"Yeah, he wants to meet me tonight," Raylan answered, as he stood up out of bed. "Somethin's up."

"And you are going to tell Art, aren't you?" She couldn't help but remember the conversation they'd had only earlier that day about his tendency in not calling for backup.

Putting his wristwatch on, he then turned towards Winona. "I can't. I need to find out what Boyd wants, first. For some reason, Boyd trusts me … despite bein' under scrutiny. That all would come to a screechin' stop if Art were to find out. With Boyd workin' so close to Arlo, I need Boyd right now."

"Well, then I'm going with you," she declared, springing out of bed and heading towards the bathroom.

"Oh, no you're not," he said, standing up and quickly grabbing her arm, as she passed by him. "You're gonna stay right here so that I don't have to worry about you, too, while I'm worryin' about Boyd and Arlo and Art."

"Oh, yes I am," she glared at him. "I'm going stir crazy hiding out in this room. I need to get out of here for a little while." She pried his fingers open and released her arm out of his grip. "And besides … if you don't take me with you … I'll tell Art what you're up to."

Raylan quickly debated the sanity of her request against the seriousness of her threat; and then, he let out an exasperated sigh and rolled his eyes. "Fine. Let's get cleaned up and on the road. It's a long drive out there to the lake from here." Under his breath, he uttered, _"I __should know. This is only the 2__nd__ time today I'm makin' this damn drive."_

_To be continued . . . _


	8. Chapter 8

Title: Hostile Takeover, Hillbilly Style (8/10)

Author: Romantique

Email:

Classification: Raylan/Winona Drama/Romance

Rating: T for coarse language, violence, suggestive sexual situations. No worse than the show.

Summary: A brand new Justified fan, this is my first Justified fic. What happens next?

Disclaimer: SPOILERS: Takes place immediately after 'Bloody Harlan.'

Legal: These characters do not belong to me. I'm just a fan and have not made a dime. Please email me to obtain permission to post.

_Martins Fork Lake_

After the long, quiet drive out towards the lake, the headlights of Raylan's Lincoln Continental illuminated the dirt parking area in front of the P-Joe's that was, still open, just as Ava said it would be. As he cut the motor, Raylan quickly reached down, rifled through his glove box, and handed Winona a hand gun and next, his cell phone from his inside jacket pocket.

"You lock these doors and stay put until I come back," he sternly ordered. "Do you hear me?"

Winona took the gun and the phone, as she was told. Then, she nodded to let him know she understood.

As Raylan exited the car, he could hear the car door locks click behind him.

"Raylan," Boyd's shadowy figure spoke, as he emerged from the outside the small shop. "Thank you for comin' here on such short notice."

Raylan smiled, bowed, and tipped his hat. "Now, why did you drag me all the way out here? You could have at least met me at a bar and bought me a drink."

"Well, we'll do that, next time," Boyd smiled back. "Besides, you told me to let you know if I found out where Dickie was."

"And?" Raylan asked. He thought this might be the purpose for this _'meeting.'_

"Devil and Wally returned to the lake this evenin', beaten to a pulp by Dickie and his associates," Boyd informed me. "Beaten kinda like you were."

Rubbing the side of his face, Raylan found himself actually having some measure of sympathy for poor ol' Devil. Suddenly finding himself more interested and alert, Raylan asked, "Where is he?"

"Now, before I disclose Dickie's location, I first need to have your word on two things that, I must inform you, are _not_ up for negotiation," Boyd flashed a toothy grin.

"You're not in any position to be makin' demands," Raylan raised his eyebrows.

"Oh, but I am," Boyd explained. "You see, I could have gone and taken care of Dickie all by myself tonight and become a local legend around these parts for doin' so." He gave a self-assured nod, and continued. "But I promised you I'd let you know if I found him first. And I'm a man of my word, Raylan Givens. And now, I need you to return the courtesy by promisin' me two things."

"And what's that?" Raylan knew better than to ask.

Boyd counted them off on his fingers. "One, that you keep me and your Daddy out of all this. And two, you let me come with you and let me have at that piece of dirt that shot Ava." His tone was as unwavering as his demands.

"Now, Boyd, you know the rules. And you'll remember Dickie also killed my Aunt Helen. But as much as a part of me would love to see you have your way with him, I cannot allow you to get ahold of Dickie," Raylan explained the obvious. "I have to bring him in … alive."

"Why?" Boyd asked in disbelief. "So, he can escape … again?"

"I share your frustration about that, believe me," Raylan nodded. "But I don't think he'll be held in the local jail this time, not after provin' to be an escape risk."

Seeing that Raylan was taking the hard stance of a law man on this issue, Boyd tried again. "Alright then. Agree to keepin' me and your Daddy out of this, and let me come along to see you arrest Dickie. Could you at least let me have that much satisfaction, after he shot Ava and all?"

"Are you packin"? Raylan asked.

Boyd reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a .38 caliber and handed it to Raylan as a gesture of good faith.

Once again, Raylan quickly went over the pros and cons in his head. The biggest con was that if Raylan did not agree to Boyd's demands, he might not get another shot at arresting Dickie before Boyd got to him, first.

"Alright," Raylan said with reluctance in his voice. "Where's your car? I'll follow you."

"I don't have one tonight," Boyd said. "Thought we could take yours."

Soon, Raylan and Boyd were approaching the Lincoln. Raylan signaled for Winona to unlock the car. As Raylan climbed into the driver's seat, and Boyd into the backseat, Raylan said, "Winona, you remember Boyd from Aunt Helen's funeral, don't you?"

With wide, glistening eyes, she turned around to look at Boyd in the backseat and said, "Yes, I do. Hello."

At the same time, Raylan quickly took the phone and handgun from her. He tossed the handgun into the glove compartment along with the piece that Boyd had just handed him.

"Well, hello, Winona," Boyd smiled, noticing in the lit car, her thin, slight form appeared to be pregnant. "Are you with child?"

Alarmed at his question, she answered, "Yes." No need to argue the obvious.

"Well congratulations to you and your husband," he glared, hoping for more information. "And what are you doin' out here at this time of night with the good marshal?"

"Marital problems," Raylan glared at Boyd through the rear view mirror, as he fastened his seat belt and turned on the ignition.

"Isn't it funny how all the women in this county flock to you for help and advice?" Boyd sneered at Raylan, thinking about Ava.

"It's not just women," Raylan immediately retorted. "I mean, look at you, for instance."

"Well, that is true," Boyd nodded. "No offense intended," he sounded sincere.

"None taken," Raylan glared back through the mirror. Not in the mood for games, Raylan asked, "Now, where are we headed?"

Looking out the window, Boyd let out a sigh. "Same place you found Walt McCready."

Raylan telegraphed his look of surprise through the rearview mirror. "You're kiddin', right?" Raylan asked, knowing for a fact that location had been already checked out by the local authorities.

"Why do you look so surprised? Don't you know the new Chief of Police is bought and paid for?" Boyd said, very matter-of-factly.

"Shit," Raylan uttered in frustration under his breath, shaking his head in disgust at yet another bought-off cop. He then pulled the car out onto the main road with the tires spinning to get out of the dirt.

The drive back to Harlan became a very quiet one with Raylan occasionally checking the passenger in his backseat when he looked to check the rearview mirror. It was obvious he could never fall into the trap of fully trusting Boyd. Winona sat quietly, knowing all too well she shouldn't have come.

On the way to the abandoned mine shaft, Raylan made a quick stop and dropped Winona off over at Ava's house for safe keeping. This time, it was Winona who had to defer to Raylan's wishes, as she found that she was in no position to argue with him. Boyd's presence in the car had changed everything.

_Ava's House_

After the two men left the two women at Ava's place, the two women sat for a time in the parlor. And after a long and awkward silence, it was finally Winona who spoke up, attempting to hide her dislike of this young woman. "How are you doing? I mean, Raylan told me that you'd been shot, too."

"I'm comin' along," Ava said. "Almost as good as new."

She looked good, Winona thought … too good. Ava had a natural country girl look to her, healthy and beautiful skin and hair, clear eyes. And a beautiful figure to match. She surmised that it must be due to the fresh country air and all the good, fresh produce available in this agricultural town.

"How's Raylan doin' after bein' shot and all? His face looks like he walked into a fist or two." Then, she sheepishly looked up. "I have had personal experience with walkin' into a fist … or two."

Winona gave her a weak smile, feeling a little uncomfortable at Ava trying to make light of her experience with physical violence at the hands of a man. And then, there was the unexpected pity she felt for her, too. "He's coming along, too, with the gunshot wound," Winona said and then anxiously nodded. "His face … well, that was Dickie Bennett's boys who did that to him a couple of days ago. That wasn't from the shooting."

Ava said, "Figures."

"Hey, I want to thank you for letting me stay here," Winona offered, changing the subject. "I'm sure you weren't expecting company at this time of night."

"It's no problem," Ava said. "After all, I owe you one for puttin' me up that one night. And I'm sure you weren't expectin' me that night, either."

"Yeah, well, that Raylan can be full of surprises, can't he now?" Then, Winona grimaced. "He wasn't exactly thrilled with me tagging along tonight."

"Oh, were you with him when I called?" Ava asked, curious as to why Winona was telling her this.

"Uh, no," Winona tried her best to think on her feet. "He was on his way to meet me. I needed to talk to him … about something."

"I'm sorry if I interrupted your evenin'," Ava said; however, she didn't really sound all that sorry.

"You didn't interrupt anything," Winona lied. "I mean, there was nothing to interrupt." Now, she was sounding as if she was flustered.

"Can I get you somethin'? Somethin' to drink?" Ava changed the subject. "I usually have myself a little bourbon before goin' to bed."

"Oh, no thanks," Winona make a little face, immediately rejecting the booze.

Picking up on the look of distaste on Winona's face as soon as she mentioned the bourbon, Ava asked. "I don't mean to pry, but are you … pregnant?"

Winona was more than a little surprised that it had now been two people in a row who figured out she was pregnant in one night. She must be suddenly showing a little more than she thought. "Yes, I am," she answered.

"And is it Raylan's?" Ava continued. This time, she was meaning to pry, and there was no doubt about it.

"Now, why would you ask me a thing like that?" Winona answered Ava's question with yet another question.

Ava took a seat on the sofa and tucked one of her legs up, underneath her. "I saw you leave Raylan's motel room one night, looking all disheveled, like you'd just taken a roll in the hay. I really didn't think you were that kind of a girl."

Shocked and frankly offended at the accusation, even though it happened to be true, Winona countered. "I'm married. You know that. You met Gary."

Ava laughed. "There's no need to play coy with me. I confronted Raylan about it the very next day, and he all but admitted he'd been with you the night I saw you leave his motel room. He certainly didn't deny it, and that's all I needed to know. That's when Raylan and I broke up. I'm surprised he didn't tell you all about it."

Winona took a seat in a nearby chair. The truth was Raylan had mentioned that very conversation with Ava to her. "I thought y'all broke up because the Sherriff's Department had to release Boyd Crowder on account that Raylan slept with you, a State's witness, and the Department of Justice found out about it. You do know that little transgression with you, it almost cost Raylan his career?"

Still smiling, rather enjoying the banter, Ava continued. "Raylan's a big boy. Nobody tells him what to do. You outta know that about him better than anybody."

"To answer your question … No, Ava. My baby is not … Raylan is not the daddy." Winona decided to keep the baby's connection to Raylan a secret for as long as she could, from Ava and everyone else in this crazy town. Besides, it was none of Ava's business who her baby's father was. "But I am having marital problems, and Raylan is still a very good friend of mine."

"Yeah, he's still a very good friend of mine, too," Ava needled. If Winona was lying, she decided it would be fun to play with her.

Not so amused by Ava's fun and games, Winona shared, "Look, if you don't mind. Right now, the only thing I'm worried about is Raylan. I may be Raylan's 'ex,' but I do still care about him." Then, she went on. "The Bennetts have only tried to kill him … what, twice before … that I know of? And after all, Dickie Bennett did kill Raylan's Aunt Helen."

"Yeah … Dickie's the one who shot me, too," Ava reminded her.

"Right," Winona acknowledged. "So, aren't you worried about him … and Boyd?"

"I grew up with Raylan and Boyd … and Dickie. I went to school with all of 'em. Raylan's the fastest draw in the county," Ava stated with certainty, "maybe in this whole region of the United States. If I was a bettin' woman, my money would be on Raylan. In fact, it's such a sure bet, I'd double down."

"I wish I could be as sure as you are," Winona said, nervously ringing her hands.

"He must have been bad off," Ava said. "In the hospital, I mean." She could only imagine what could so badly spook this veteran, ex-wife of a Deputy Sherriff.

Winona looked up, touched by Ava's change of heart, as there was a sudden shift to genuine concern in Ava's voice. "He was. It was scary for a while," Winona shared. "Raylan's so strong and capable. He always seemed invincible, you know, like nothing bad could ever happen to him."

"I know what _invincible _means," Ava said. "I may look like a simple girl from the holler, but I ain't no dummy." Here Ava had been trying to pick at Winona's insecurities, and now it seemed it was backfiring by exposing one of her own.

Ava looked over at Winona and studied her. She always looked so put together … classy and sophisticated. She knew how to dress, and her makeup was always flawless … like the models Ava would see on the covers of magazines. Winona was pretty in a not so common way. She was petite yet athletic looking, like a ballet dancer. All in all, she was very different from Ava. She could never forget that Raylan told her Winona was the most beautiful woman he'd ever laid eyes on … until when he met Ava. Ava never believed him on that one, thinking that he was just a man trying to 'un-insult' her … after he had unwittingly insulted her that night … by talking honestly about the woman he loved. Winona.

"That's not what I meant," Winona tried to assure her. "Not at all, Ava." After a beat, she continued with her story. "Anyway, when Raylan was in the hospital, he looked so vulnerable, all hooked up to bags and tubes and monitors. I'd never seen him like that before. I'd never been afraid for him. At least, not like that. Did you know that he's still off from work, out on medical leave? And he will be for at least another month. I'm worried that he's not yet at his physical best, you know, for shooting or defending himself. Especially without backup." How she wished he had let Art know what he was up to.

"Well," Ava lamented, "even on his worst day, Raylan Givens is really somethin ´else. Plus, he's got Boyd with him. They make a damn good team. I seen them get out of a big scrape myself with my own two eyes, not that long ago … when it looked like there was no way for them to get out of it. Not only did they make it out of that scrape, he did it without gettin' a single scratch on him."

"Really?" Winona latched onto her every word, onto any hope.

"Yeah," Ava nodded. "They really had the other one's backs. I mean, I know it's weird to think about them workin' together. Because, more times than not, they're on opposite sides of the law. But for somethin' like this, when they are on the same side, they're a force to be reckoned with." Then, Ava smiled a sweet smile. "Don't worry. They'll be home soon. And everything will be fine. You'll see." Ava was becoming more and more convinced that Winona was so much more to Raylan than an ex-wife. "Now, are you sure I can't get you somethin' to drink? I have sweet tea made, and maybe some homemade lemon ginger cookies? It's a real nice combination. Nice and easy on the stomach."

Sorely in need of something to help pass the time and not being able to drink alcohol, Winona said, "Sure. That would be nice."

And the two women moved their vigil into Ava's kitchen.

_To be continued …_


	9. Chapter 9

Title: Hostile Takeover, Hillbilly Style (9/10)

Author: Romantique

Email:

Classification: Raylan/Winona Drama/Romance

Rating: T for coarse language, violence, suggestive sexual situations. No worse than the show.

Summary: A brand new Justified fan, this is my first Justified fic. What happens next?

Disclaimer: SPOILERS: Takes place immediately after 'Bloody Harlan.'

Legal: These characters do not belong to me. I'm just a fan and have not made a dime. Please email me to obtain permission to post.

_Enroute_

With Winona both out of harm's way and out of earshot, Raylan felt he could finally speak freely to Boyd. "So, did Arlo hire you for protection?"

"Protection from what?" Boyd answered Raylan with yet another question. With one fewer passengers in the car, Boyd had graduated, from the backseat of Raylan's Lincoln Town Car, up to the passenger seat. "Arlo and I have long done business together. You know that."

"No, I don't … know anything," Raylan looked over and then, back at the darkened road ahead. And not knowing anything about the ins and outs of Arlo's activities was mostly by Raylan's choice. "Why don't you enlighten me?"

"Well, with the Bennetts gone, there's a power vacuum in Harlan," Boyd said, staring straight ahead, as he spoke.

"I'm aware of that," Raylan said, in a tone that telegraphed he was not in the mood for any bullshit.

"Arlo and I are just tryin' to make sure we don't get sucked up in that vacuum and spit out, left out in the dust," Boyd explained. "Or be killed by Dickie Bennett. You surely understand that latter part, don't you?"

Quickly glancing over again, Raylan answered, "Yeah, I do understand the Dickie part. But what I don't understand is the Hillbilly Heroin part."

This time, it was Boyd who looked over at the marshal. "Why must you assume we're involved with Hillbilly Heroin? Did you ever stop to consider that we only want to replace that void in the weed business that was left by the unfortunate demise of the Bennetts? Before someone else who is worse than us comes in and takes control? You've said it yourself, Raylan, … the Federals aren't really interested in our local, homegrown crop of herb. There is that, and Arlo's too old to be involved in somethin' as dangerous as traffickin' oxycontin."

"What about you?" Raylan jumped on the crux of what he wanted to know. "Are you too old to be traffickin' oxycontin?"

Boyd shifted his weight in his seat. "I know you won't believe me, but I would never want Ava to be involved in that kind of a life. She deserves better," Boyd nodded. "She deserves better than the weed business, too, but she also insists that she wants me out of the detonatin' business at the mine."

"Yeah? And what about blowin' stuff up, just because it's fun?" Raylan asked. "Are you givin' all that up for Ava, too?"

Not amused, Boyd answered with a straight face. "I ask you. Have you had any reports of anything bein' blown up here, lately? No, you have not. And therein lies the answer to your question. You continue to fail to believe me when I tell you I've changed. Now, back to the weed business … I've got to earn a livin' somehow." Then, he chided Raylan by asking, "Unless you think there's a job for me over at the Marshal Service?"

Raylan grinned. "Yeah, now that would be the day, wouldn't it? But seriously? Do you really expect me to believe that you're givin' up a job where you get to blow' shit up, and it's legal?" Raylan laughed.

"I would do _anything_ for Ava," Boyd glared at Raylan.

Catching Boyd's drift that maybe he'd gone too far where Ava is concerned, Raylan quickly reversed course, "Hey, no offense intended. I just found it hard to believe."

"No offense taken," Boyd shot back. "But you can believe it, as it's the Gospel truth."

"Alright. I'll have to take you at your word." As they soon approached their destination, Raylan asked in all seriousness, "If I give you back your piece, can I trust you not to use it on me?"

Boyd smiled, as he looked over at Raylan. "It seems, once again, you and I have put in the unlikely position of havin' to trust one another for our common good."

"And what's that?" Raylan asked, thinking they had very little in common. "Our common good?"

"That we both make it through this night," Boyd clenched his jaw and stated it as a hard, cold fact, "alive."

_At the Garner Mineshaft_

As they approached the old, abandoned mineshaft, Raylan pulled off the road and cut the motor to his car, out of sight. He then reached into the glove compartment and retrieved Boyd's gun and handed it back over. On foot, they quietly made their way towards the mine, keeping their eyes peeled and their ears tuned for any sign of Dickie Bennett. It wasn't long before they spied a campfire near the shaft where Dickie and two men were loudly laughing and yucking it up in the cool night air, throwing their empty beer bottles into the fire. They all appeared to have had too much to drink.

Boyd motioned to Raylan that he was going to stay behind to get a different vantage point, as Raylan decided to take the direct approach and confront Dickie. With his trigger hand on the ready to draw his Glock, he approached the campfire. Raylan drew his weapon and clearly, loudly shouted, "Dickie Bennett, you're under arrest."

Dickie and the men looked up with a look of surprise on their inebriated faces. One of the men went for his gun, and Raylan immediately shot it out of his hand.

"Raylan, Raylan, Raylan," Dickie, taunted his former high school baseball rival, the taunting dripping in Southern charm. "Well, well. I've been waitin' for you. It's about time you showed your face."

"Now, Dickie," Raylan chastised the escapee and was equally versed in Southern charm, as he continued to stop toward him. "You knew I'd find you sooner or later."

"I did," Dickie smiled, sounding almost giddy, "I did. And you knew that when you did finally find me, you'd never take me alive. Not after what you did to Momma and Doyle."

"That _was not_ by my hand," Raylan insisted, speaking in a tone that was as cool as a cucumber. "Your Momma killed herself, the same way she killed Loretta's father … with her _'Apple Pie,'__ …_ _after_ she found out Doyle was dead and you were in custody. And Doyle? He was shot by a sharpshooter, compliments of the U.S. Marshal Service. If you hadn't been hidin' down in the front seat of my car like a little girl, you'd have seen that for yourself."

"_You_ are damn lie!" an angry Dickie shouted at the top of his lungs. "My whole family is dead on account of you. And Raylan … _you__ are gonna pay._"

A third man snuck up behind Raylan and clocked him across his shoulders and in the back of his neck and head with a 2 x 4, bringing Raylan down to his knees, where he then fell to the ground … the force was strong enough to knock the hat off his head and his gun out of his hand.

Stunned and woozy, Raylan was unable to defend himself when the crony was joined by another. Two of the men grabbed Raylan by his boots and arms and dragged him to the edge of the same shaft where Dickie and Coover had dumped Walt McCready's body, while the other one grabbed Raylan's gun and hat. Swinging the deputy marshal's limp form, on the count of three, they let go of him, watching him first fly up in the air, and then, down, down, down into the deep, dark vertical shaft.

Raylan felt himself go airborne and eventually land in pitch black darkness with a hard thud that rattled and sent shock waves through his entire body. "Ohhhhhhh, God," he moaned, as pain seared his left side. Beyond stunned, there was nothing he could do but lie there on the cold earth, in the dark. The damp odor and coolness of the dirt brought back a flood of unpleasant memories of working down in the mines. The pace of his breathing increased as being below ground gave Raylan a grave sense of claustrophobia, exacerbating the pain in his side. He consciously tried to relax, for his own good.

Up above ground, Boyd Crowder ran up behind and shot one of Dickie's men through the back, and then the other in the head in quick succession, before he aimed straight for Dickie and quickly shot the sawed off out of Dickie's hand. The third man began to run away from the mine, when Boyd shot him square in the back. He immediately dropped to the ground, lifeless.

"Your reign of terror is over," Boyd directed his remarks directly to Dickie. He aimed the barrel and said, "This is for shootin' Ava." Then, he aimed his piece straight for Dickie's heart.

"Wait! I didn't shoot Ava. I was there, but it wasn't me who shot her," Dickie pleaded, knowing Boyd was a mad man.

"And now, _you_ are a damn lie," Boyd repeated exactly what Dickie had said to Raylan.

Then, three more gunshots rang out in quick succession, "bang, bang, bang."

After Boyd was satisfied that he was now alone, his attention turned to the marshal. "Hey, Raylan," Boyd shouted down into the darkness. "Can you hear me?"

"Is that you, Boyd?" Raylan's voice echoed back up the hole.

"Yeah, it's me," Boyd answered.

"What took you so long?" Raylan asked.

"Sorry, but I got waylaid," he explained. "Are you alright down there?"

"I dunno. I landed on my shoulder, my arm," Raylan's voice continued to echo up the shaft. "I don't mean to be a whiner, but my whole side … I think I'm hurt."

"Is it bad?" Boyd asked.

"Pretty bad," Raylan answered.

"Well, then, we need to get you on out of there," Boyd surmised.

"Sounds good to me," Raylan agreed.

Up above, Boyd lit a flair he'd found to shed some light on the night darkness. Then, he quickly looked all around, searching for something he could use to pull Raylan out. Suddenly, he spied a huge, coil of rope with a clamp on its end. "I'm gonna throw the end of this rope down to you. And, I want you to tie it off tight around your waist with the clamp, and I'll hoist you up. Do you think you can do that?"

"I can try," Raylan answered.

After a beat, Boyd continued, "Talk to me, Raylan. First, I'm gonna toss a flare down there so that you can see what you're doin', and I'd like to toss it away from you rather than at you. I need to know exactly where you are."

"That'd be good," Raylan shouted. "I'm over here."

Boyd then dropped another lit flare and watched it fall down, down, down into the other side of the shaft and watched, as it hit bottom. Suddenly, the entire shaft was illuminated, and Boyd figured Raylan was down some 25 to 30 feet. He then pitched the clamped end of the rope down to Raylan.

Using his one good hand, Raylan wrapped the rope around his waist and fastened it with a metal clamp. "Alright," Raylan shouted, indicating he was ready to get out of there.

Boyd wrapped the other end of the rope around a nearby pole, tied it off with a good, strong knot, and quickly put on a pair of gloves he found in a nearby toolkit. Then, he began to slowly pull Raylan's limp form up towards the surface. As Raylan moved closer and closer towards the surface, the rope slid from his waist, up around his chest and under his arms. He grimaced, as pain seared from his left side. The weight of his body pressed against the tautness of the rope in the area under his injured arm, as he dangled in mid-air. Raylan grabbed onto the rope, above, with his one good hand, attempting to take some of the weight off his injured side.

Meanwhile, from up above on Boyd's end, the closer Raylan got to the top of the pit, the heavier he became. Boyd braced his feet behind a large wooden beam so as not to be dragged into the shaft himself. After a time, Boyd panted and broke out into a sweat, as he pulled and pulled, struggling to hang onto the rope.

Just when he felt as if he could hold on no more, Raylan reached up and grabbed the top side of the shaft with his good hand to stabilize himself and take more of the weight off his injured side. "Ahhhhhhhh," he cried out, into the night.

Boyd felt the weight on the rope suddenly become lighter, and he quickly gathered up the slack and moved closer and closer to the law man. Then, he dug his feet into the earth and leaned down to grab Raylan by the forearm and pulled with all his might until Raylan's entire torso, from the waist up, was up above ground. Raylan kicked his legs up, out of the pit, as Boyd grabbed him by his belt and yanked him away from the edge in one quick motion.

"Oh, God," Raylan called out as he drew his legs up into his torso in pain. He was now out of the Bennett's death pit.

Out of both air and energy, the two men clung to one at the top of the pit, heavily breathing. Raylan was noticeably cold to the touch and began to shiver, his lips had turned blue. "Hang in there, buddy. I think you're goin' into shock." And Boyd quickly sat up and took off his jacket, and used it to cover the marshal. Then, he searched Raylan's pockets and found his cell phone, and he called Ava, giving her their location and asked her to call 911 to send an ambulance. And then, after he disconnected the phone, Boyd told Raylan that he would sit there with him for a while, but that he would soon have to take off.

"Dickie?" Raylan asked, teeth chattering and still lying on the ground, across Boyd's lap. "Is he dead?"

"You know I can't answer that, Law Man," Boyd looked down at him.

After a few beats, Raylan spoke again. "Boyd?" His voice was weakening, as he was having trouble staying awake.

"Yeah, Raylan?" Boyd asked, trying to keep him conscious.

"Thanks for gettin' me out of that shaft," Raylan mumbled before his eyes closed. "I don't like it much down there, underground."

"Yeah, I remember," Boyd said while his ears were tuned to listen for sirens. "And you're welcome."

_To be continued …_


	10. Chapter 10

Title: Hostile Takeover, Hillbilly Style (10/10)

Author: Romantique

Email:

Classification: Raylan/Winona Drama/Romance

Rating: T for coarse language, violence, suggestive sexual situations. No worse than the show.

Summary: A brand new Justified fan, this is my first Justified fic. What happens next?

Disclaimer: SPOILERS: Takes place immediately after 'Bloody Harlan.'

Legal: These characters do not belong to me. I'm just a fan and have not made a dime. Please email me to obtain permission to post.

_Garner Mineshaft_

The EMTs arrived first on the scene to find a scene of carnage from the multiple shootings with an injured, now semi-conscious Raylan lying less than 6 feet from the edge of the mineshaft. He was there without Boyd, but only by a few minutes.

After triaging his condition, the EMTs hurriedly placed Raylan on a transport gurney, up off the cold ground. Then, they administered oxygen, covered his cold and shivering body with blankets, and started an IV. Within moments, his blood volume was coming up, and the shivering began to subside. He was becoming more lucid. He looked up and focused his eyes and could gradually make out the face of Art Mullen standing over him.

"Raylan, are you alright?" Art asked.

"Oh … I've been better," Raylan answered, blinking his eyes, still trying to catch his bearings.

"Did you shoot _all_ these guys?" Art asked, his voice filled with concern about his marshal and irritation, at the same time. "Because I swear … you cause me more paperwork than all the rest of the other marshals, combined."

Raylan softly answered him. "I didn't shoot anyone."

"What do you mean … you didn't shoot _anyone_?" Art asked in disbelief. "We got four bodies here, and one of 'em is Dickie Bennett!"

"I was thrown … down the shaft. I couldn't see or hear anything," Raylan maintained. After seeing the look of disbelief on Art's face, he then said, "Take my gun … and run it, if you don't believe me."

Art walked over and looked down into the deep, abandoned mining elevator shaft. It was dark down there, alright. From the scrapes on Raylan's face, arms, and hands, as well as the unmistakeable metallic odor of the earth coming from his soiled clothes … it was obvious Raylan was telling the truth about having being down there.

"Then, answer me this," Art continued to interrogate his Deputy. "How did you get _out_ of that mindshaft? You sure as hell didn't climb out of there all by yourself."

"I dunno. I woke up … found myself here," Raylan explained.

"Well, what the hell were you doin' here at the abandoned mine this late at night in the first place?" After a beat, there was still one other thing that made Art very angry and frustrated. "And, pray tell, would you like to tell me why you didn't call for back up … _this time_?"

"The only thing … I can remember … is the excruciatin' pain in my shoulder when I landed in the bottom of the pit," Raylan answered, lying very still on the gurney. "I tried to use my cell phone … to call for help. There's no reception down there."

Art put his hands on his hips in frustration. "So, you're gonna tell me that you remember nothin' before that and expect me to believe it?"

"Well, yeah," Raylan looked up at his boss, as if it was the only possible explanation.

The two were then interrupted by one of the EMTs who directed his remarks to Art. "Sir, we need to transport him. You're welcome to ride in the back of the ambulance with him, if you'd like."

"Naw, that's okay," Art said. "I need to stay here to process this scene. Raylan, I'll see you later." He said it more like a threat than a promise.

Somehow, the thought of having to deal with Art's testiness seemed like the least of Raylan's troubles. Indeed, what he was more concerned about was the thought of dealing with Winona.

_At the hospital_

Raylan was stabilized in the ER with IVs of fluid and electrolytes, warming blankets. His temperature and blood pressure quickly rose back up to the normal range. The multiple scrapes and contusions from the assault and the fall were then cleaned and iced and butterfly bandaged, and he was imaged every which way but loose. As a result of the long fall, he had two cracked ribs and dislocated his shoulder. The shoulder was reset, and his arm was positioned in a sling. Popping the shoulder back into place hurt like hell, but once it was over, his shoulder and arm felt much better. Later, his ribs were taped, and he was given something for pain.

It was about that time that he was moved into a room, and Winona was allowed to come in and see him. She peaked around the corner, into his room. "How are you doin', Cowboy?"

"Honestly?" he looked up at her. "I think I'm gonna live."

After a moment of awkward silence, Raylan offered, "Look, I know what you're gonna say."

"No, you don't," she stopped him. "Right now, I'm just grateful you're alive. Could we just leave it at that, for now?"

"Okay," he was surprised. "I'm tryin' to get them to release me," he added.

She laughed a little. "Oh, I don't think you're going anywhere. It's almost 4 o'clock in the morning. The doctor told me that because you were in shock when they brought you in, they want to observe you for 24 hours to make sure you stay good and stable. If your luck holds out, you can go home tomorrow. So, you might as well just lie back, relax, and let those good drugs kick in."

He smiled a little. "To be honest, I feel real good right now. Like I'm floatin' on a cloud."

"Do you now?" she asked, the corners of her mouth turning up into a smile. "Honey, I don't think I've ever seen you high before. Drunk, exhausted, sick … yes. But high? After all these years, I think this is a first."

"I saw you high one time," Raylan grinned. "Remember that time you had your wisdom teeth pulled? And the dentist gave you those strong pain pills?"

"I don't remember," she said, scrunching up her face.

"I do," he turned his head to look at her. "You were funny. You kept askin' me to sing show tunes with you. And you know I can't sing, and I don't know _any_ show tunes."

Now, she smiled. "I really did that?"

"Yeah," he nodded, "you did."

"Well, did you?" she asked. "Did you sing a show tune with me ... to humor me?"

"Uh, against my better judgment, I tried," he used his good right hand to add to his talking. "And every dog in the neighborhood began to _'howl along with Raylan.'_"

"Oh, they did not," Winona rolled her eyes, as if she'd been had.

"I clearly recall they did," he nodded his head and laughed.

About that time, a maintenance guy brought in a recliner into the room for Winona.

"I hope you don't mind, but I'm bunking in with you," she explained to him.

"Awwww, you don't have to do that," he sounded genuinely concerned about her and the baby. "I'll be alright here. You go on back to the hotel and get a good night's sleep."

"Well, I kinda do have to, because it's too late for me to catch a cab back to the hotel," she enlightened him. "So, you're stuck with me until the sun comes up."

Winona thanked the maintenance guy and closed the door to the room after he left. She grabbed a blanket and a pillow from Raylan's closet, and climbed up into the recliner and pulled the lever, covering herself with the blanket. "Hey, you wanna sing some show tunes?" she chuckled.

"No," he smiled. "I'm too tired, to sing," he said. "Drugs are kickin' in. But if you'd like to sing, that'd be nice."

"Okay," she said. "What would you like me to sing?"

"Hmmm. How about a lullaby?" he asked, letting out a deep sigh. "It'd be good practice for the baby."

"Alright," she said. "I know this one lullaby for cowboys … or cowgirls."

And then, Winona began to softly sing:

_Hush-a-bye, don't you cry,  
>Go to sleep my little baby.<br>When you wake you shall have  
>All the pretty little horses.<br>Blacks and bays, dapples, grays,  
>All the pretty little horses.<br>Hush-a-bye, don't you cry,  
>Go to sleep my little baby.<em>

"Hmmmm. That's nice," Raylan murmured, his eyes were closed. "Again?"

Winona repeated the next verse through the refrain when, she looked over to see that Raylan was softly snoring, sound to sleep.

_The next morning_

Tim and Rachel stopped by with some paperwork for Raylan to sign regarding his firearm. Art did indeed take possession of Raylan's gun the night before, as Raylan suggested.

Tim remarked, "Well, we don't have the premium liquor this time, but here are the forms to sign."

"Ahhhh, it's alright. I'm still flyin' high on the pain meds," Raylan smiled, as he signed the forms with his good right hand.

"I wasn't talkin' about liquor for you, Raylan," Tim said. "I was talkin' about liquor for us." Tim felt he was due at least that reward every time he processed one of Raylan's firearms in a shooting. "What kind of a gun are you goin' to buy _this_ time?"

"Same as the old one," Raylan said, without skipping a beat.

"You don't keep one long enough to tire of it and want a new make," Rachel joked.

"Ha, ha," Raylan smiled. "I don't see what the big to-do is about. My gun is gonna to come up clean. I didn't shoot anyone. They'll give me _this_ one back. It's my personal gun."

"You do realize this would be a first," Rachel smiled, on a roll. "That your gun was not used in a shooting where you were present?"

"That's only because he was down in that mine shaft," Tim quipped.

Tim and Rachel laughed, and even Winona joined in.

"Again, _very_ funny," Raylan said, happy to oblige … so they could all joke at his expense.

About that time, Rachel looked over at Winona. She quietly motioned with her hand, making a gesture of 'round' near her own abdomen and mouthed the words, "Are you pregnant?"

_That did it,_ Winona thought. She must really be starting to show now. She shook her head _'__yes.__'_

Then, Rachel pointed to Raylan. And Winona just as quickly shook her head, _'no,'_ and mouthed the words, _"marital problems."_

"_Ohhhhh,"_ mouthed Rachel. And then, _"Congratulations."_

Then, Winona mouthed the obligatory, _"Thank y__ou__."_

About that time, Art walked in, asked how the paperwork on the firearm was coming. And then, he asked everyone in the room if he could speak to Raylan, in private.

After everyone left the room, Art pulled a chair up closer to Raylan's hospital bed.

"So … you want to tell me about Boyd Crowder?" Art didn't waste any time cutting to the chase.

"What are you talkin' about?" Raylan asked.

Art gladly expounded. "You say you didn't have anything to do with Dickie's death. You were rescued, and not by us. I'd say that's two clues right there that point to Boyd."

Raylan sighed, "Look, I want to get Boyd in custody for those he's killed as much as you do, but we can't … not on this one."

"And why not, Raylan?" Art insisted on knowing.

"Because there's no evidence he was there," Raylan pointed out. "What are you tryin' to do, here, Art? Make Boyd into a small town legend for killin' Dickie Bennett? Because that's exactly what would happen."

"I guess I never looked at it that way," Art remarked at Raylan's enlightening point of view. But then, he quickly turned it around. "Is that who Boyd told you what would happen if we went after him?"

"No," Raylan lied. "Look, the Bennetts had tons of enemies. They've messed over so many people over the years. There's no tellin' who had the motive to do this … other than you or me or Boyd or …"

"Ohhhhhh," Art played along. "You mean like _'Who Shot JR?'_ In that everyone had a motive?"

"Exactly," Raylan smiled.

"We haven't found anything yet that ties Boyd to the shooting," Art revealed. "But that doesn't mean we're done lookin'." After a beat, he said, "At least with you in the hospital, I don't have to worry about you getting' into any more trouble," Art remarked with a grin on his face. "Or do I?"

"Uh, no," Raylan shook his head. "No worries from me." He thought to himself that he would have to take Boyd at his word about the oxycontin, at least for now. Besides, the other deputies could be his eyes for Boyd and Arlo, at least until he recovered.

"Good," Art nodded. "Cause I really could use the down time at the office."

_Double Tree Hotel_

_The next evening_

Winona was lying on her side on top of the bedspread beside Raylan, fully clothed, with her head propped up by her hand. "I guess Ava and I reached some kind of an understanding that night. I mean, I still don't like it … that she continues to have the hots for you."

Raylan was propped up in the bed with lots of extra pillows, also fully clothed. "And I don't like that Gary continues to have the hots for you, either. So, I guess we're even in that regard." He smiled and gently ran his fingers down the side of her face with his good right hand.

"But at least she did give me some insight into your background, you know, growing up in Harlan that I guess I didn't have before. It's helped me to understand a little more why you do what you do," she said, and then turned her head to kiss his finger tips.

"Then, would you please explain it to me because, half the time, even I don't always understand why I do what I do?" he asked, half sincere and half happy they were having an honest, open conversation.

She sat up and moved a little closer, causing him to wince a little at the movement of the mattress.

"Sorry," her face mirrored his wince.

"It's okay," he sighed.

"What I learned is that, even though I'm a Southerner myself, I wasn't raised in a small town like you and Ava and Boyd," she began. "And I didn't grow up in the same place, either. As you know, we moved around a lot. So, I guess Ava was able to explain to me that sense of place, that sense of duty for others in a small town, to those who are not your family … and that sense of duty that one would have … if one was to grow up in a small town."

Raylan smiled. "Yes, one would." He understood most of what she said, as his latest dose pain pills were beginning to nicely kick in.

"And you know what?" she asked, not waiting for an answer. "I'd like our child to grow up in the same kind of town, and have that sense of place that I didn't have growing up. But not in Harlan¸ okay?"

"Oh, God, no," Raylan looked alarmed. "Definitely. Never in Harlan."

"So, that means we have about 3 or 4 years to decide where we're going to settle down, okay" she cooed.

"Okay," he slowly smiled at her mention of _their_ future, something he hadn't heard from her since he'd been shot. All the while, his eyes were becoming heavier. "I think we can do that."

"Good," she smiled back, leaning down and giving him a soft peck on the lips. Then, she reached over and turned off the light on the nightstand. "How about you and me and baby Givens get some good shut eye tonight?"

"I'm way ahead of you two," Raylan mumbled. No longer was a bounty on his head, at least not that he was aware of … because in his line of work, one could never be too sure. And he reached over, beside him in the dark, and placed his good hand protectively over Winona's growing baby bump, as the _'three'_ of them drifted off to sleep.

-fin-


End file.
